MRS  PEIXADA 


By  Author  of  "Mrs.  Peixada." 

AS  IT  WAS  WRITTEN. 

A  Jewish  Musician's  Story. 

BY    SIDNEY    LUSKA. 

VOLUME  i6Mo.  EXTRA  CLOTH.     PRICE,     -       -    $1.00. 


"  It  ought  to  be  read  by  all  who  enjoy  the  spell  of  the 
human  imagination."— Springfield  Republican. 

"  One  of  the  most  powerful  novels  of  the  year." — St. 
Louis  Republican. 

"  A  triumph  of  art."— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"It  cannot  fail  to  impress  itself  as  an  able  and  moving 
dramatic  effort. — N.  Y.  Times. 

"  It  stands  apart  from  the  average  novel,  soon  invites 
attention,  and  then  rivets  it."— N.  Y.  Evening  Telegram. 


FOR    SALE    BY    ALL    BOOKSELLERS. 


MRS    PEIXADA 


BY 

SIDNEY   LUSKA  pp. 

Author  of  "As  IT  WAS  WRITTEN,  "etc.,  etc. 


CASSELL  &  COMPANY,  LIMITED, 

739  &  741  Broadway,  New  York. 


COPYRIGHT, 

1886, 
By  O.  M.  DUNHAM. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


Pres»  of  W.  L.  Mershon  &  Co. 
Rahway,  N .  J. 


TO 

DANIEL   G.    ROLLINS 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. — A  CASE  is  STATED, 9 

CHAPTER  II.— "A  VOICE,  A  MYSTERY,"       .       .       .       .21 

CHAPTER  III. — STATISTICAL,      .       ...       .       .         49 

CHAPTER  IV.— "THAT  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE  SHE,"    .        .        .71 
CHAPTER  V. — "A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING,".        .         90 
CHAPTER  VI. — "THE  WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES,"        .       .    124 
CHAPTER  VII. — ENTER  MRS.  PEIXADA,      ....        152 

CHAPTER  VIII.— "WHAT  REST  TO-NIGHT?"       .        .        .175 

CHAPTER  IX.— AN  ORDEAL, 194 

CHAPTER  X.— "SICK  OF  A  FEVEK," 228 

CHAPTER  XI. — "HOW  SHE  ENDEAVORED  TO  EXPLAIN  HER 

LIFE," 244 

CHAPTER  XII.— "THE  FINAL  STATE  o'  THE  STORY,"     .        305 


MRS.  PE1XADA. 


CHAPTER  J.: 

A    CASE    IS    STATED. 


ON  more  than  one  account  the  25th  of  April  will 
always  be  a  notable  anniversary  in  the  calen 
dar  of  Mr.  Arthur  Ripley.  To  begin  with,  on  that 
day  he  pocketed  his  first  serious  retainer  as  a  law 
yer. 

He  got  down-town  a  little  late  that  morning. 
The  weather  was  superb — blue  sky  and  summer 
temperature.  Central  Park  was  within  easy  walking 
distance.  His  own  engagements,  alas,  were  not 
pressing.  So  he  had  treated  himself  to  an  after- 
breakfast  ramble  across  the  common. 

On  entering  his  office,  toward  eleven  o'clock,  he 
was  surprised  to  find  the  usually  empty  chairs 
already  tenanted.  Mr.  Mendel,  the  brewer,  was 
established  there,  in  company  with  two  other  gen 
tlemen  whom  Arthur  did  not  recognize.  The  sight 
of  these  visitors  caused  the  young  man  a  palpita 
tion.  Could  it  be — ?  He  dared  not  complete  the 
thought.  That  a  client  had  at  last  sought  him  out, 
was  too  agreeable  an  hypothesis  to  be  entertained. 


10  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Mr.  Mendel  greeted  him  with  the  effusiveness 
for  which  he  is  distinguished,  and  introduced  his 
companions  respectively  as  Mr.  Peixada  and  Mr. 
Rimo.  Of  old  time,  when  Arthur's  father  was  still 
alive,  and  when  Arthur  himself  had  trotted  about 
ir?..  l^nee-breeches  and  short  jackets,  Mr.  Mendel 
had  been  their  next-door  neighbor.  Now  he  made 
the  .lawyer  f(  e.l  undignified  by  asking  a  string  of 
personal  questions  .  ''  Vail,  how  iss  mamma  ?  "  and 
"  Not  married  yet,  eh  ?  "  and  "  Lieber  Gott !  You 
must  be  five-and-twenty — so  tall,  and  with  dot  long 
mustache — yes  ?  "  And  so  forth  ;  smiling  the  while 
with  such  benevolence  that  Arthur  could  not  help 
answering  politely,  though  he  did  hope  that  a 
desire  for  family  statistics  was  not  the  sole  motive 
of  the  brewer's  visit. 

But  by  and  by  Mendel  cleared  his  throat,  and 
assumed  a  look  of  importance.  His  voice  mod 
ulated  into  a  graver  key,  as  he  announced,  "  The 
faict  is  that  we — or  rather,  my  friends,  Mr.  Peixada 
and  Mr.  Rimo — want  to  consult  you  about  a  little 
maitter  of  business."  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
drawing  a  deep  breath,  as  though  the  speech  had 
exhausted  him  ;  mopped  his  brow  with  his  hand 
kerchief,  and  flourished  his  thumb  toward  Peixada. 

"  Ah,"  replied  Arthur,  bowing  to  the  latter,  "  I 
am  happy  to  be  at  your  service,  sir." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peixada,  in  a  voice  several  sizes 
larger  than  the  situation  required,  "  Mr.  Mendel 
recommends  you  to  us  as  a  young  man  who  is 
smart,  and  who,  at  the  same  time,  is  not  so  busy 


A  CASE  IS  STA  TED,  I  T 

but  that  he  can  bestow  upon  our  affairs  the  atten 
tion  we  wish  them  to  have." 

Notwithstanding  Arthur's  delight  at  the  prospect 
of  something  to  do,  Peixada's  tone,  a  mixture  as  it 
was  of  condescension  and  imperiousness,  jarred  a 
little.  Arthur  did  not  like  the  gratuitous  assump 
tion  that  he  was  "  not  so  busy,"  etc.,  true  though  it 
might  be  ;  nor  did  he  like  the  critical  way  in  which 
Peixada  eyed  him.  "  Indeed,"  he  said,  speaking  of 
it  afterward,  "  it  gave  me  very  much  such  a  sensa 
tion  as  a  fellow  must  experience  when  put  up  for 
sale  in  the  Turkish  slave  market — a  feeling  that  my 
4  points  '  were  being  noted,  and  my  money  value 
computed.  I  half  expected  him  to  continue, '  Open 
your  mouth,  show  your  teeth  !  '  "  Peixada  was  a 
tall,  portly  individual  of  fifty-odd,  with  a  swarthy 
skin,  brown,  beady  eyes,  a  black  coat  upon  his 
back,  and  a  fat  gold  ring  around  his  middle  finger. 
The  top  of  his  head  was  as  bald  as  a  Capuchin's, 
and  shone  like  a  disk  of  varnished  box-wood.  It 
was  surrounded  by  a  circlet  of  crisp,  dark,  curly 
hair.  He  had  a  solemn  manner  that  proclaimed  him 
to  be  a  person  of  consequence.  It  turned  out  that 
he  was  president  of  a  one-horse  insurance  company. 
Mr.  Rimo  appeared  to  be  but  slightly  in  advance 
of  Arthur's  own  age — a  tiny  strip  of  a  body,  wearing 
a  resplendent  cravat,  a  dotted  waistcoat,  pointed 
patent-leather  gaiters,  and  finger-nails  trimmed 
talon-shape — a  thoroughbred  New  York  dandy,  of 
the  least  effeminate  type. 

"  I  suppose  the  name,    Peixada,"  the  elder   of 


12  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

the  pair  went  on,  "  is  not  wholly  unfamiliar  t«, 
you." 

"  Oh,  no— by  no  means,"  Arthur  assented,  won 
dering  whether  he  had  ever  heard  it  before. 

"  I  suppose  the  circumstances  of  my  brother's 
death  are  still  fresh  in  your  mind." 

Arthur  put  on  an  intelligent  expression,  and  in 
wardly  deplored  his  ignorance.  Yet — Peixada  ? 
Peixada  ?— the  name  did  have  a  familiar  ring,  of  a 
truth.  But  where  and  in  what  connection  had  he 
heard  it  ? 

"  Let  me  see,"  he  ventured,  "  that  was  in — ?  " 

"  In  July,  'seventy-nine — recollect  ?" 

Ah,  yes  ;  to  be  sure  ;  he  recollected.  So  this 
man  was  a  brother  of  the  Peixada  who,  rather  less 
than  half  a  dozen  years  ago,  had  been  murdered, 
and  whose  murder  had  set  New  York  agog.  In  a 
general  way  Arthur  recalled  the  glaring  accounts  of 
the  matter  that  had  appeared  in  the  newspapers  at 
the  time.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  feeling  that  it  behooved 
him  to  say  something,  "  it  was  very  sad." 

"  Fearful  !  "  put  in  Mr.  Mendel. 

"  Of  course,"  Peixada  resumed,  in  his  pompous 
style,  "  of  course  you  followed  the  trial  as  it  was 
reported  in  the  public  prints  ;  but  perhaps  you  have 
forgotten  the  particulars.  Had  I  better  refresh 
your  memory  ? " 

"  That  would  be  a  good  idea,"  said  Arthur. — To 
what  was  the  way  being  paved  ? 

With  the  air  of  performing  a  ceremony,  Peixada 
rose,  unbuttoned  his  coat,  extracted  a  bulky  envel- 


A   CASE  IS  STATED.  13 

ope  from  the  inner  pocket,  re-seated  himself,  and 
handed  the  envelope  to  Arthur.  It  proved  to  con 
tain  newspaper  clippings.  "  Please  glance  them 
through,"  said  Peixada. 

The  Peixada  murder  had  been  a  sensational  and  \ 
peculiarly  revolting  affair.  One  July  night,  1879, 
Mr.  Bernard  Peixada,  "  a  retired  Jewish  merchant," 
had  died  at  the  hands  of  his  wife.  Edward  Bolen, 
coachman,  in  the  attempt  to  protect  his  employer, 
had  sustained  a  death-wound  for  himself.  Mrs. 
Peixada,  "  the  perpetrator  of  these  atrocities,"  as 
Arthur  gathered  from  the  records  now  beneath  his 
eye,  "  was  a  young  and  handsome  woman,  of  a 
respectable  Hebrew  family,  who  must  have  been 
actuated  by  a  depraved  desire  to  possess  herself  of 
her  husband's  wealth."  They  had  "  surprised  her 
all  but  red-handed  in  the  commission  of  the  crime," 
though  "  too  late  to  avert  its  dire  results."  Event 
ually  she  was  tried  in  the  Court  of  General  Ses 
sions,  and  acquitted  on  the  plea  of  insanity.  Arthur 
remembered — as,  perhaps,  the  reader  does — that 
her  acquittal  had  been  the  subject  of  much  popular 
indignation.  "  She  is  no  more  insane  than  you  or 
I,"  every  body  had  said  ;  "  she  is  simply  lacking  in 
the  moral  sense.  Another  evidence  that  you  can't 
get  a  jury  to  be  impartial  when  a  pretty  woman 
is  concerned." 

"  She  was  bad,"  continued  Peixada,  as  Arthur 
returned  the  papers,  "  bad  through  and  through.  I 
warned  my  brother  against  her  before  his  marriage. 
1  What,'  said  I,  *  what  do  you  suppose  she  would 


14  MAS.  PEIXADA. 

marry  an  old  man  like  you  for,  except  your  money  ? ' 
He  said,  '  Never  mind.'  She  was  young  and  showy, 
and  Bernard  lost  his  head." 

"  She  was  doocedly  handsome,  a  sooperb  creat 
ure  to  look  at,  you  know,"  cried  Mr.  Rimo,  with  the 
accent  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  Hainsome  is  as  hainsome  does,"  quoth  Mr. 
Mendel,  sententiously. 

u  She  was  as  cold  as  ice,  as  hard  as  alabaster,"  said 
Peixada,  perhaps  meaning  adamant.  "  The  point 
is  that  after  her  release  from  prison  she  took  out 
letters  of  administration  upon  my  brother's  estate." 

"  Why,  I  thought  she  was  insane,"  said  Arthur. 
"  A  mad  woman  would  not  be  a  competent  admin 
istratrix." 

"  Exactly.  I  interposed  objections  on  that 
ground.  But  she  answered  that  she  had  recovered  ; 
that  although  insane  a  few  months  before — at  the 
time  of  the  murder — she  was  all  right  again  now. 
The  surrogate  decided  in  her  favor.  A  conven 
ient  form  of  insanity,  eh  ?" 

"  Were  there  children  ?  "  Arthur  inquired. 

"  No— none.  My  nephew,  Mr.  Rimo,  son  of  my 
sister  who  is  dead,  and  I  myself,  were  the  only  next 
of  kin.  She  paid  us  our  shares  right  away." 

Then  what  could  he  be  driving  at  now  ?  Arthur 
waited  for  enlightenment. 

"  But  now,"  Peixada  presently  went  on,  u  now  I 
have  discovered  that  my  brother  left  a  will." 

"  Ah,  I  understand.  You  wish  to  have  it  admit 
ted  to  probate  ?" 


A  CASE  IS  STATED.  15 

"  Precisely.  But  first  I  wish  to  find  Mrs.  Peix- 
ada.  The  will  isn't  worth  the  paper  it's  written  on, 
unless  we  can  get  hold  of  her.  You  see,  she  has 
about  half  the  property  in  her  possession." 

"  There  was  no  real  estate  ?  " 

"  Not  an  acre  ;  but  the  personalty  amounted  to 
a  good  many  thousands  of  dollars." 

"  And  you  don't  know  where  she  is  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  an  idea." 

"  Have  you  made  any  efforts  to  find  out  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  say  I  had — made  every  effort  in 
my  power.  That's  what  brings  me  here.  I  want 
you  to  carry  on  the  search." 

"  I  shouldn't  imagine  it  would  be  hard  work.  A 
woman — a  widow — of  wealth  is  always  a  conspic 
uous  object — trebly  so,  when  she  is  handsome  too, 
and  has  been  tried  for  murder.  But  tell  me,  what 
have  you  done  ?  " 

"  You'll  be  surprised  when  you  hear.  I  myself 
supposed  it  would  be  plain  sailing.  But  listen." 

Peixada  donned  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  spectacles, 
opened  a  red  leather  memorandum-book,  and  read 
aloud  from  its  pages.  The  substance  of  what  he  read 
was  this.  He  had  begun  by  visiting  Mrs.  Peixada's 
attorneys,  Messrs.  Short  and  Sondheim,  the  firm 
that  had  defended  her  at  her  trial.  With  them  he 
got  his  labor  for  his  pains.  They  had  held  no 
communication  with  the  lady  in  question  since 
early  in  January,  1881,  at  which  date  they  had  set 
tled  her  accounts  before  the  surrogate.  She  was 
then  traveling  from  place  to  place  in  Europe.  Her 


1 6  MRS.  PE1XADA. 

last  letter,  postmarked  Vienna,  had  said  that  for 
the  next  two  months  her  address  would  be  poste  res- 
tante  at  the  same  city.  From  the  office  of  Short  and 
Sondheim  Mr.  Peixada  went  to  the  office  of  his  sis 
ter-in-law's  surety,  the  Eagle  and  Phoenix  Trust 
Company,  No.  —  Broadway.  There  he  was  referred 
to  the  secretary,  Mr.  Oxford.  Mr.  Oxford  told 
him  that  the  Company  had  never  had  any  personal 
dealings  with  the  administratrix,  she  having  acted 
thoughout  by  her  attorneys.  The  Company  had 
required  the  entire  assets  of  the  estate  to  be 
deposited  in  its  vaults,  and  had  honored  drafts 
only  on  the  advice  of  counsel.  Thus  protect 
ed,  the  Company  had  had  no  object  in  keep 
ing  the  administratrix  in  view.  Our  inquirer 
next  bethought  him  of  Mrs.  Peixada's  per 
sonal  friends — people  who  would  be  likely  still 
to  maintain  relations  with  her — and  saw  such  of 
these  as  he  could  get  at.  One  and  all  professed 
ignorance  of  her  whereabouts — had  not  heard  of 
her  or  from  her  since  the  winter  of  '80 — '81. 
Finally  it  occurred  to  him  that  as  his  brother's 
estate  had  consisted  solely  of  stocks  and  bonds,  he 
could  by  properly  directed  investigations  learn  to 
what  corner  of  the  world  Mrs.  Peixada's  dividends 
were  sent.  But  this  last  resort  also  proved  a 
failure.  The  stocks  and  bonds,  specified  in  the 
surrogate's  inventory,  had  been  sold  out.  He  could 
find  no  clew  to  the  reinvestments  made  of  the 
money  realized. 

Peixada    closed    his    note-book    with    a    snap. 


A   CASE  IS  SEATED.  17 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  I've  been  pretty  thorough 
and  pretty  unsuccessful.  Can  you  think  of  any 
stone  that  I  have  left  unturned  ?" 

"  How  about  relatives  ?  Have  you  questioned 
her  relatives  ? "  asked  Arthur. 

"  Of  relatives — in  America,  at  least — Mrs.  P.  has 
none.  Her  father  died  shortly  after  her  marriage. 
Her  mother  died  during  the  trial." 

"  But  uncles,  aunts,  sister,  brothers  ?  " 

"  None  to  my  knowledge.  She  was  an  only 
child." 

"  Her  maiden-name  was —  ?  " 

"  Karon— Judith  Karon.  Her  father,  Michael 
Karon,  used  to  keep  a  jewelry  store  on  Second 
Avenue." 

"  About  what  is  her  age  ? " 

"  She  was  twenty-one  at  the  time  of  the  murder. 
That  would  make  her  twenty-five  or  six  now." 

"  So  young,  indeed  ?  Have  you  a  photograph 
of  her?" 

"  A  photograph  ?  No.  I  don't  know  that  she 
ever  sat  for  one.  But  I  have  these." 

Peixada  produced  a  couple  of  rough  wood- 
engravings,  apparently  cuttings  from  illustrated 
papers,  and  submitted  them  for  examination. 

"  They  don't  look  any  thing  like  each  other," 
said  Arthur.  "  Does  either  of  them  look  like  her  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  Peixada  answered.  "  In  fact,  the 
resemblance  is  so  slight  that  they  wouldn't  assist 
at  all  in  identifying  her.  On  the  contrary,  I  think 
they'd  lead  you  quite  astray." 


1 8  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Said  Mr.  Rimo,  "  Bah  !  They  give  you  no  more 
idea  of  her  than  they  do  of  Queen  Victoria.  They'd 
answer  for  any  other  woman  just  as  well." 

Arthur  said,  "  That's  too  bad.  But  I  suppose 
you  have  brought  a  copy  of  the  will  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  here's  the  original.  It  is  in  my 
brother's  handwriting,  dated  a  month  before  his 
death,  and  witnessed  by  two  gentlemen  of  high 
standing.  I  have  spoken  to  each  of  them.  They 
acknowledge  their  signatures,  and  remember  the 
circumstances.  I  made  a  search  for  a  will  right 
after  Bernard  died,  but  could  find  none.  This  I 
unearthed  most  unexpectedly.  I  was  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  my  poor  brother's  prayer-book,  when, 
there  it  was,  lying  between  the  pages." 

The  will  was  brief  and  vigorous.  In  the  name 
of  God,  amen,  (on  a  half-sheet  of  legal-cap),  it 
devised  and  bequeathed  all  the  property,  real  or 
personal,  of  which  testator  should  die  seized  or 
possessed,  to  his  dearly  beloved  brother,  Benjamin 
Peixada,  and  his  dearly  beloved  nephew,  Maurice 
Rimo,  for  them  to  hold  and  enjoy  the  same,  in  fee 
simple,  share  and  share  alike,  absolutely  and  for 
ever,  provided  that  they  should  pay  annually  to 
testator's  widow,  (until  such  time  as  she  should 
re-marry,  or  depart  this  life),  the  sum  of  three 
hundred  dollars.  It  was  attested  by  a  well-known 
Jewish  physician  and  by  a  well-known  Jewish 
banker. 

"  It  would  seem  from  this,"  said  Arthur,  "  that 
your  brother  got  bravely  over  his  illusions  oon- 


A   CASE  IS  STATED.  19 

earning  his  wife.  It's  lucky  he  had  no  real  estate. 
She  would  be  entitled  to  her  dower,  you  know,  as  a 
matter  of  course." 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  and  I  guess  that  was  the  reason 
why  my  brother  converted  all  his  real  estate  into 
personalty  shortly  after  his  marriage — so  that  he 
could  dispose  of  it  as  he  chose.  The  reference  to 
real  estate  here  in  the  will  is  doubtless  an  inad 
vertence.  He  was  probably  following  a  form.  He 
couldn't  trust  his  wife.  She  made  his  life  wretched." 

"  Well,"  Arthur  be*gan — but  Peixada  interrupted. 

"  I  want  you,"  he  said  in  his  dictatorial  way,  "  to 
name  a  sum  for  which  you  will  undertake  to  con 
tinue  this  investigation  and  bring  it  to  a  successful 
issue  ;  that  is,  find  Mrs.  P.,  have  the  will  proved, 
and  compel  her  to  refund  the  property — upwards 
of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars,  unless  she  has 
squandered  it — that  remains  subject  to  her  control." 

"Oh,  I  can't  name  a  lump  sum  off-hand,"  replied 
Arthur,  "  neither  can  I  guarantee  success.  I  would 
of  course  do  my  utmost  to  succeed,  but  there  is 
always  the  chance  of  failure.  The  amount  of  my 
compensation  would  be  determined  by  the  time  I 
should  have  to  spend,  and  the  difficulties  I  should 
have  to  encounter." 

"  That  sounds  reasonable.  Then  suppose  I 
should  agree  to  defray  all  expenses  by  the  way,  pay 
a  fee,  as  you  suggest,  proportionate  to  your  service 
at  the  end,  and  now  at  the  outset  give  you  a 
retainer  of — say  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  ; 
would  you  be  satisfied  ?  " 


20  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Arthur's  heart  leaped.  But  to  exhibit  his  true 
emotions  would  be  unprofessional.  He  constrained 
himself  to  answer  quietly,  "  Yes,  I  should  be 
satisfied."  It  was,  however,  with  a  glow  of  genuine 
enthusiasm  for  his  client  that  he  folded  up  a  check 
for  the  tidy  sum  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
and  tucked  it  into  his  pocket. 

Said  Peixada,  "  I  shall  trust  the  entire  manage 
ment  of  this  business  to  your  discretion.  Only  one 
thing  I  shall  suggest.  I  think  an  adroitly  worded 
advertisement  in  the  principal  newspapers  of  this 
country  and  Europe— an  advertisement  that  would 
lead  the  reader  to  suppose  that  we  felt  friendly 
toward  Mrs.  P. — would  be  a  wise  measure.  For 
instance,  a  notice  to  the  effect  that  she  could  learn 
something  to  her  advantage  by  communicating 
with  you." 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  scarcely  honorable,  would 
it?" 

"  Honorable  ?  In  dealing  with  a  murderess — 
with  a  woman,  moreover,  who  is  enjoying  wealth 
not  rightly  hers  —  talk  about  honorable  !  All 
means  are  fair  by  which  to  catch  a  thief." 

"But  even  so,  she  would  be  too  shrewd  to  take 
the  bait.  An  advertisement  would  merely  put  her 
on  her  guard.  Mustn't  bell  the  cat,  you  know." 

"  That's  one  way  of  considering  it.  On  the  other 
hand— However,  I  simply  offer  the  suggestion  ; 
you're  the  pilot  and  can  take  whatever  course  you 
please." 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  reserve  our  advertisement  till 


A  CASE  IS  STATED.  2I 

other  expedients  have  failed.  The  first  thing  to  do 
is — "  But  Arthur  stopped  himself.  He  did  not 
clearly  know  what  the  first  thing  to  do  was.  "I'll 
think  about  it,"  he  added. 

"  Good,"  said  Peixada,  rising  ;  "  there's  nothing 
further  for  me  to  detain  you  with  to-day." 

"  Give  my  regards  to  mamma,  when  you  write, 
Arthur,"  said  Mr.  Mendel. 

"  I  leave  you  my  memoranda,"  said  Peixada,  lay 
ing  his  note-book  upon  Arthur's  desk. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,"  enjoined  Mr.  Rimo, 
smiling  and  waving  his  hand. 

The  three  gentlemen  filed  out.  Arthur  remained 
seated  in  his  arm-chair  a  long  while  after  their 
departure,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  wall,  his  fingers 
busily  twirling  his  mustache.  For  three  years  he 
had  been  enrolled  among  the  members  of  the  bar. 
This  was  the  first  case  he  had  received  that  seemed 
really  worthy  of  his  talents. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  A  VOICE,    A  MYSTERY." 

\  RTHUR  RIPLEY— good-natured,  impression- 
fl  able,  unpractical  Arthur  Ripley,  as  his  famil 
iars  called  him— dwelt  in  Beekman  Place.  Beek- 
man  Place,  as  the  reader  may  not  know,  is  a  short, 
chocolate-colored,  unpretentious  thoroughfare, 
perched  on  the  eastern  brink  of  Manhattan  Island, 
and  commanding  a  fine  view  of  the  river,  of  the 
penitentiary,  and  of  the  oil  factories  at  Hunter's 
Point.  Arthur  and  a  friend  of  his,  Mr.  Julian 
Hetzel,  kept  house  in  the  two  upper  stories  of  No. 
43,  an  old  German  woman  named  Josephine  acting 
as  their  maid-of-all-work.  They  had  a  kitchen,  a 
dining-room,  a  parlor,  two  airy  dormitories,  a  light 
closet  which  did  duty  for  a  guest-chamber  ;  and 
over  and  above  all,  they  had  the  roof.  Upon  the 
roof  Hetzel  had  swung  a  hammock,  and  in  earthen 
pots  round  about  had  ranged  an  assortment  of 
flowering  shrubs  ;  so  that  by  courtesy  the  roof  was 
commonly  styled  the  loggia.  Here,  toward  sun 
down  on  that  summery  April  day  mentioned  in  the 
last  chapter,  the  chums  were  seated,  sipping  their 
after-dinner  coffee  and  smoking  their  after-dinner 
cigarettes.  They  could  not  have  wished  for  a 


"A  VOICE,  A  MYSTERY:^  23 

pleasanter  spot  for  their  pleasant  occupation.  By 
fits  and  starts  a  sweet  breeze  puffed  up  from  the 
south.  Westward  the  sun  was  sinking  into  a  crim 
son  fury.  Eastward  the  horizon  glowed  with  a 
delicate  pink  light.  Below  them,  on  one  side, 
stretched  the  river — tinted  like  mother-o'-pearl 
by  the  ruddy  sky  overhead — up  which  a  procession 
of  Sound  steamboats  was  sweeping  in  stately  single 
file.  On  the  other  side  lay  the  street,  clamorous 
with  the  voices  of  many  children  at  sport.  Around 
the  corner,  an  itinerant  band  was  playing  selections 
from  Trovatore.  Blatant  and  faulty  though  the 
music  was,  softened  by  distance,  it  had  a  quite 
agreeable  effect.  Of  course,  the  topic  of  conver 
sation  was  Arthur's  case. 

Hetzel  said,  "  It  will  be  slow  work,  and  tedious." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  retorted  Arthur,  "  it  seems 
to  me  to  furnish  an  opportunity  for  brilliant 
strategy.  I  must  get  a  clew,  you  know,  and  then 
clinch  the  business  with  a  few  quick  strokes." 

"  Just  so  ;  after  the  manner  of  Monsieur  Lecoq. 
Well,  where  do  you  propose  to  strike  your  clew  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  started  in  yet.  I  suppose  I  shall 
hit  upon  one  soon  enough." 

"  I  doubt  it.  In  my  opinion  you're  booked  for  a 
sequence  of  wearisome  details.  The  quality  you'll 
require  most  of,  is  patience.  Besides,  if  the  lady 
should  sniff  danger,  she'll  be  able  to  elude  you  at 
every  turn.  You  want  to  make  it  a  still  hunt." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that." 

"  What's  the  first  step  you  mean  to  take  ? " 


24  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind.  I  need  time  for 
deliberation." 

"  There's  only  a  single  thing  to  do,  and  that's 
not  the  least  Lecoq-like.  Write  to  the  place  where 
she  was  last  known  to  be — Vienna,  did  you  say  ? — 
to  the  consul  or  postmaster  6r  prefect  of  police,  or 
better  yet  all  three,  and  ask  whither  she  went  when 
she  left  there.  Then,  provided  you  get  an  answer, 
write  to  the  next  place,  and  so  on  down.  This  will 
take  about  a  hundred  years.  So,  practically,  you 
see,  Peixada  has  supplied  you  with  permanent 
employment.  The  likelihood  that  it  will  ultimately 
succeed  is  extremely  slim.  There  is  danger  of  a 
slip-up  at  every  point.  However,  far  be  it  from  me 
to  discourage  you." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Peixada's  plan — an 
advertisement  ? " 

"  Gammon  !  You  don't  fancy  she  would  march 
with  open  eyes  into  a  palpable  trap  like  that,  do 
you  ?  I  suspect  the  matter  will  end  by  your  mak 
ing  a  trip  to  Europe.  If  Peixada  knows  what's 
what,  he'll  bundle  you  off  next  week.  You  could 
trace  her  much  more  effectively  in  person  than  by 
letters." 

"  Wouldn't  that  be  jolly  ?  Only  it  would  involve 
my  neglecting  the  other  business  that  might  turn 
up  if  I  should  stick  here." 

"What  of  it?  What  other  business?  What 
ground  have  you  for  believing  that  any  other  busi 
ness  will  turn  up  ?  Has  the  past  been  so  prolific  ? 
Besides,  isn't  the  summer  coming  ?  And  isn't  the 


"A  VOICE,  A  MYSTERY;'  25 

summer  a  lawyer's  dull  season  ?  You  might  lose  a 
couple  of  two-penny  district-court  cases  ;  but  sup 
pose  you  did.  See  of  what  advantage  it  would  be 
to  your  reputation.  Somebody  calls  at  your  office. 
'  Is  Mr.  Ripley  in  ? '  *  No,'  replies  your  clerk, 
'  Mr.  Ripley  is  abroad  on  important  business.' 
'  Ah,'  thinks  the  caller,  *  this  Ripley  is  a  flourishing 
young  practitioner.'  And  mark  my  words,  nothing 
hastens  success  like  a  reputation  for  success." 

"  Such  a  picture  sends  the  blood  to  my  head.  I 
mustn't  look  at  it.  It  would  make  me  discontented 
with  the  reality." 

"If  you're  diplomatic,"  Hetzel  went  on,  "you 
can  get  a  liberal  education  out  of  this  Peixada  case. 
Just  fancy  jaunting  from  town  to  town  in  Europe,  and 
having  your  expenses  paid.  In  your  moments  of  leis 
ure  you  can  study  art  and  languages  and  the  man 
ners,  costumes,  and  superstitions  of  the  hoary 
east." 

"  And  all  the  while,  Mrs.  Peixada  may  be  living 
quietly  here  in  New  York  !  Isn't  it  exasperating 
to  realize  the  difficulty  of  putting  your  finger 
upon  a  given  human  being,  when  antecedently  it 
would  seem  so  easy?  Never  mind  ;  up-hill  work 
though  it  be,  it's  sure  to  get  interesting.  A  woman, 
young,  beautiful,  totally  depraved,  a  murderess  at 
the  age  of  twenty-one — I  wonder  what  she  is  like." 

"  Oh,  probably  vulgar  to  the  last  degree.  Don't 
form  a  sentimental  conception  of  her.  Keep  your 
head  cool,  or  else  your  imagination  will  get  the 
better  of  your  common  sense." 


26  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  No  fear  of  that.  But  I  shall  go  at  the  case 
with  all  the  more  zest,  because  I  am  anxious  to 
view  this  novel  specimen  of  womankind." 

"  You'll  find  she's  a  loud,  flashy  vixen — snapping 
eyes,  strident  voice,  bediamonded  person.  Women 
who  resort  to  powder  and  shot  to  get  rid  of  their 
husbands  in  this  peaceable  epoch  of  divorce,  are 
scarcely  worth  a  respectable  man's  curiosity." 

"  Hello  !  "  cried  Arthur,  abruptly.  "  What's 
that  ? " 

"  Oh,  that,"  answered  Hetzel,  "  that's  the  corner 
house — No.  46." 

Hetzel  spoke  metonymically.  "  That  "  was  a 
descending  musical  scale— -fa,  mi,  re,  do,  si,  la,  sol, 
fa, — which  rang  out  all  at  once  in  a  clear  soprano 
voice,  from  someplace  near  at  hand;  a  wonderfully 
powerful  voice,  with  a  superb  bugle-like  quality. 

"Fa,  sol,  la,  si,  do,  re,  mi,  fa,"  continued  the 
songstress. 

"  By  Jove,"  exclaimed  Arthur,  "  that's  some 
thing  like."  Then  for  a  moment  he  was  all  ears, 
and  did  not  speak.  At  last,  "  The  corner  house  ?  " 
he  queried.  "  Has  some  one  moved  in  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  Hetzel's  answer  ;  "  they  moved  in 
yesterday.  I  had  this  all  the  morning." 

"  This  singing  ? " 

"  Exactly,  and  a  piano  to  boot.  Scales  and  exer 
cises  till  I  was  nearly  mad." 

"  But  this — this  is  magnificent.  You  were  to  be 
envied." 

"  Oh,  yes,  it's  very  fine.     But  when  a  man  is  try- 


"A  VOICE,  A  MYSTERY:'  27 

ing  to  prepare  an  examination  paper  in  the  integral 
calculus,  it  distracts  and  interferes.  She  quite 
broke  up  my  morning's  work."  Hetzel  was  a  tutor 
of  mathematics  in  a  college  not  a  hundred  miles 
from  New  York. 

"  Have  you  seen  her  ? "  Arthur  asked. 

"No,  they  only  took  possession  yesterday.  A 
singular  thing  about  it  is  that  they  appear  to  con 
fine  themselves  to  one  floor.  The  blinds  are 
closed  every  where  except  in  the  third  story,  and 
last  night  there  was  no  light  except  in  the  third 
story  windows.  Queer,  eh  ?  " 

Arthur  approached  the  verge  of  the  roof,  and 
looked  over  at  the  corner  house  across  the  street. 
The  third  story  windows  were  open  wide,  and  out 
of  them  proceeded  that  beautiful  soprano  voice, 
now  practicing  intervals— fa-si,  sol-do,  and  so 
forth.  "Well,"  he  affirmed,  "this  is  a  regular 
romance.  Of  course  a  woman  with  such  a  voice  is 
young  and  beautiful  and  every  thing  else  that's 
lovely.  And  then,  living  cooped  up  on  the  third 
floor  of  that  dismal  corner  house — she  must  be  in 
needy  circumstances  ;  which  adds  another  element 
of  charm  and  mystery.  I  suppose  she's  in  training 
to  become  a  prima  donna.  But  who  are  they  ?  Who 
lives  with  her?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  I  haven't  seen  any  of 
them.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  she  doesn't  live 
alone,  that's  all." 

"  Hush-sh!  "  cried  Arthur,  motioning  with  his 
hand. 


28  MRS.  PFJXADA. 

The  invisible  musician  had  now  abandoned  her 
exercises,  and  was  fairly  launched  upon   a  song, 
accompanying    herself    with    a     piano.      Neither 
Arthur  nor  Hetzel  recognized  the  tune,  but   they 
greatly  enjoyed  listening  to  it,  because  it  was  ren 
dered  with  so  much    intelligence  and  delicacy  of 
expression.     They  could  not  make  out   the  words, 
either,  but  from  the  languid,  sensuous  swing  of  the 
melody,  it  was  easy  to   infer  that  the  theme  was 
love.     There  were  several  verses  ;  and  after  each 
of  them,   occurred  a  brilliant    interlude    upon  the 
piano,   in    which  the    refrain  was  caught    up   and 
repeated  with  variations.     Arthur  thought  he  had 
never  heard  sweeter    music  in  his  life  ;  and  very 
likely  he  never  had.     "  That  woman,"  he  declared, 
when  silence  was  restored,  "  that  woman,  whoever 
she  is,  has  a  soul—&  rare  enough  piece  of  property 
in  this  materialistic  age.     Such  power   of  making 
music  betokens   a    corresponding   power  of   deep 
feeling,  clear  thinking,  noble  acting.     I'd  give  my 
right   hand  for  a  glimpse  of    her.     Why   doesn't 
some  mesmeric  influence  bring  her  to  the  window  ? 
Oh,  for  an  Asmodeus  to  unroof  her  dwelling,  and 
let  me  peep  in  at   her— observe  her,    as  she  sits 
before  her  key-board,  unconscious  of  observation!  " 
Even  Hetzel,  who  was  not  prone  to  enthusiasms, 
who,  indeed,  derived  an  expert's  satisfaction  from 
applying  the  wet  blanket,  admitted  that  she  sang 
"  like  an  angel." 

Arthur  went  on,   "  Opera  ?     Talk  about  opera  ? 
Why,  this  beats  the  opera  all  hollow.     Can  you  con- 


"A  VOICE,  A  MYSTERY:'  29 

ceive  a  more  exquisite  wise  en  scene  ?  Twilight  ! 
Lingering  in  the  west — over  there  behind  the 
cathedral — a  pale,  rosy  flush  !  Above,  a  star  or  two, 
twinkling  diamond-like  on  the  breast  of  the  coming- 
night  !  In  our  faces,  the  fragrance  of  the  south 
wind  !  Below  us,  the  darkling  river,  alive  with 
multitudinous  craft  !  Can  your  Opera  House,  can 
your  Academy  of  Music  boast  any  thing  equal  to 
it  ?  And  then,  as  the  flower  and  perfection  of  this 
loveliness,  sounding  like  a  clarion  from  heaven,  that 
glorious  woman's  voice.  I  tell  you,  man,  it's  poetry 
—it's  Rossetti, Alfred  de  Musset,  Heinrich  Heine — 
it's — Hello  !  there  she  goes  again." 

This  time  her  selection  was  the  familiar  but  ever 
beautiful  Erl  Konig,  which  she  sang  with  such 
dramatic  spirit  that  Hetzel  himself  exclaimed,  when 
she  had  finished,  "  It  actually  made  my  heart 
stand  still." 

"  *  Du  liebes  Kind,  komm  geh  mit  mir  !  '  "  hummed 
Arthur.  "  Ah,  how  persuasively  she  murmured  it  ! 
And  then,  *  Mein  Vater,  mein  Vater,  und  /wrest  du 
nicht?' — wasn't  it  blood-curdling?  Didn't  it  con 
vey  the  entire  horror  of  the  situation  ?  the  agony  of 
terror  that  bound  the  child's  heart  ?  Beekman 
Place  has  had  an  invaluable  acquisition.  I'll 
wager,  she's  as  good  and  as  beautiful  as  St.  Cecilia, 
her  patroness.  What  do  you  guess,  is  she  dark  or 
fair,  big  or  little  ?  " 

"  The  odds  are  that  she's  old  and  ugly.  Patti 
herself,  you  know,  is  upwards  of  forty.  It  isn't 
probable  that  with  her  marvelous  musical  accom- 


30  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

plishments,  this  lady  is  endowed  with  youth  and 
beauty  also.  I  wouldn't  cherish  great  expectations 
of  her,  if  I  were  you  ;  because  then,  if  you  should 
ever  chance  to  see  her,  you'll  be  so  much  disap 
pointed.  Better  make  up  your  mind  that  her 
attractions  begin  and  end  with  her  voice.  Com 
plexion  ?  Did  you  ask  my  opinion  of  her  com 
plexion  ?  Oh,  she's  blonde — that  goes  without 
saying." 

"  Wrong  again  !  She's  a  brunette  of  the  first 
water  ;  dusky  skin,  red  mouth,  black,  lustrous  eyes. 
You  can  tell  that  from  the  fire  she  puts  into  her 
music.  As  for  her  age,  you're  doubly  mistaken. 
If  you  had  the  least  faculty  for  adding  two  and  two 
together — arithmetician  that  you  are — you'd  know 
at  once  that  a  voice  of  such  freshness,  such  compass, 
and  such  volume,  could  not  pertain  to  a  woman  far 
beyond  twenty.  On  the  other  hand,  no  mere 
school-girl  could  sing  with  such  intelligent  expres 
sion.  Wherefore,  striking  an  average,  I'll  venture 
she's  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  twenty-five. 
However,  conjectures  are  neither  here  nor  there. 
Where's  Josephine  ?  Let's  have  her  up,  and  inter 
rogate  her." 

With  this  speech,  Arthur  began  to  pound  his 
heel  upon  the  roof — the  method  which  these  young 
bachelors  employed  to  make  known  to  their  domestic 
that  her  attendance  was  wanted.  When  the  vener 
able  Josephine  had  emerged  waist-high  from  the 
scuttle-door,  "  Josephine,"  demanded  Arthur, 
"  who  is  the  new  tenant  of  the  corner  house  ?" 


"A    VOICE,  A  MYSTERY."  31 

But  Josephine  could  not  tell.  Indeed,  she  was 
not  even  aware  that  the  corner  house  had  been 
taken.  Arthur  set  her  right  on  this  score,  and, 
"  Now,"  he  continued,  "  I  wish  you  would  gossip 
with  the  divers  and  sundry  servants  of  the  neigh 
borhood  until  you  have  found  out  the  most  you  can 
about  these  new-comers,  and  then  report  to  me. 
For  this  purpose,  you  are  allowed  an  evening's  out 
ing.  But  as  you  prize  my  good-will,  be  both  dili 
gent  and  discreet." 

As  the  twilight  deepened  into  darkness,  Arthur 
remained  posted  at  the  roof's  edge,  looking  wistfully 
over  toward  the  third-story  windows  of  the  corner 
house.  By  and  by  a  light  flashed  up  behind  them  ; 
but  the  next  instant  an  unseen  hand  drew  the 
shades  ;  and  a  few  moments  later  the  light  was 
extinguished. 

"  They  retire  early,"  he  grumbled. 

"  By  the  way,  don't  you  think  it's  getting  a  little 
chilly  up  here  ? "  asked  Hetzel. 

"  Decidedly,"  he  assented,  shivering.  "  Shall 
we  go  below  ? " 

They  descended  into  their  sitting-room — a  cozy, 
book-lined  apartment,  with  a  permanent  savor  of 
tobacco  smoke  upon  its  breath — and  chatted 
together  till  a  late  hour.  The  Peixada  matter  and 
the  mysterious  songstress  of  No.  46  pretty  equally 
divided  their  attention. 

Next  morning  Hetzel — whose  bed-chamber,  at 
the  front  of  the  house,  overlooked  the  street  ; 
whereas  Arthur's,  at  the  rear,  overlooked  the  river 


32  AfA'S.  PEIXADA. 

— Hetzel   was   awakened    by   a    loud  rap   at    his 
door. 

"  Eh — er — what  ?  Who  is  it  ?  "  he  cried,  start 
ing  up  in  bed. 

"  Can  I  come  in  ?  "     Arthur's  voice  demanded. 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  Arthur  entered. 

Hetzel's  wits  getting  out  of  tangle,  "  What 
unheard-of  event  brings  you  abroad  so  early  ?  "  he 
inquired. 

"  Early  ?  You  don't  call  this  early  ?  It's  half- 
past  seven." 

"  Well,  that's  a  round  half  hour  earlier  than  I 
ever  knew  you  to  rise  before.  "Is  any  thing  the 
matter  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Bosh  !  I'm  always  up  at  half-past  seven," 
averred  Arthur,  with  brazen  indifference  to  the 
truth. 

He  crossed  the  floor,  and  sent  the  curtains 
screeching  aloft  ;  having  done  which,  he  estab 
lished  himself  in  a  rocking-chair,  facing  the 
window,  and  rocked  to  and  fro. 

"  Ah,  I — I  understand,"  said  Hetzel. 

"  Understand  what  ?  " 

"  The  motive  that  impelled  you  to  rise  with  the 
lark." 

"  You're  making  much  ado  about  nothing,"  said 
Arthur.  But  he  blushed  and  fidgeted  uncomfort 
ably.  "  Any  body  would  suppose  I  was  an  invet 
erate  sluggard.  Grant  that  I  am  up  a  little  in 
advance  of  my  usual  hour— is  that  an  occasion  for 
so  much  talk  ? " 


" A    VOICE,  A  MYSTERY."  33 

"  The  question  is,  rather,"  rejoined  Hetzel,  with 
apparent  irrelevancy,  "  are  you  rewarded  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Arthur  tried  to  appear  puzzled  ; 
but  as  his  eyes  met  those  of  his  comrade,  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  twitched  convulsively  ;  and 
thereupon,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  he 
laughed  outright. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  ashamed,  anyhow,"  he  said. 
"  I'd  give  a  good  deal  for  a  glimpse  of  her  ;  and  if 
I  can  catch  one  before  I  go  down-town,  why 
shouldn't  I  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Hetzel,  sympathetically. 
"  But  don't  be  secretive.  Let's  have  the  results  of 
your  observation." 

"  Oh,  as  yet  the  results  are  scanty.  The  house 
hold  seems  to  be  asleep — blinds  down,  and  every 
thing  as  still  as  a  mouse. — No,  there,  the  blinds  are 
raised — but  whoever  raises  them  knows  how  to 
keep  out  of  sight.  Not  even  a  hand  comes  in 
view. — Now,  all's  quiet  again. — Ah,  speaking  of 
mice,  they  have  a  cat.  A  black  cat  sallies  forth 
upon  the  stone  ledge  outside  the  window,  and 
performs  its  ablutions  with  tongue  and  paw. — 
Another  !  Two  cats.  This  one  is  of  the  tiger 
sort,  striped  black  and  gray.  Isn't  it  odd — two 
cats  ?  What  on  earth,  do  you  suppose,  possesses 
them  to  keep  two  cats  ? — One  of  them,  the  black 
one,  returns  indoors.  Number  two  whets  his  claws 
upon  the  wood  of  the  window  frame — gazes  hun 
grily  at  the  sparrows  flitting  round  about — yawns — 
curls  himself  up — prepares  for  a  nap  there  on  the 


34  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

stone  in  the  sun.— Why  doesn't  she  come  to  the 
window  ?  She  ought  to  want  a  breath  of  the 
morning  air.  This  is  exasperating." 

The  above  monologue  had  been  delivered  piece 
meal,  at  intervals  of  a  minute  or  so  in  duration. 
At  its  finish,  Hetzel  got  out  of  bed. 

"  Well,"  he  cried,  stretching  himself,  "  maintain 
your  vigil,  while  I  go  for  a  bath.  Perhaps  on  my 
return  you  may  have  something  more  salient  to 
communicate." 

But  when  he  came  back,  Arthur  said,  "  Not  a 
sign  of  life  since  you  left,  except  that  in  response 
to  a  summons  from  within  the  tiger-cat  has  re- 
entered  the  house  ;  probably  is  discussing  his 
breakfast  at  this  moment.  Hurry  up— dress— and 
let  us  do  likewise." 

At  the  breakfast  table,  "  Well,  Josephine,"  said 
Arthur,  "  tell  us  of  the  night." 

Josephine  replied  that  she  had  subjected  all  the 
available  maid-servants  of  the  block  to  a  pumping 
process,  but  that  the  most  she  had  been  able  to 
extract  from  them  was— what  her  employers  already 
knew.  On  Thursday,  the  24th,  some  person  or 
persons  to  the  deponents  unknown,  had  moved  into 
No.  46.  But  two  cart-loads  of  furniture,  besides  a 
piano,  had  been  delivered  there;  and  the  new 
occupants  appeared  to  have  taken  only  one  floor  : 
whence  it  was  generally  assumed  that  they  were 
not  people  of  very  great  consequence.  Arthur 
directed  her  to  keep  her  eyes  and  ears  open,  and 
to  inform  him  from  time  to  time  of  any  further 


"A  VOICE,  A  MYSTERY:'  35 

particulars  that  she  might  glean.  This  she 
promised  to  do.  Then  he  lingered  about  the  front 
of  the  house  till  Hetzel  began  to  twit  him,  demand 
ing  sarcastically  whether  he  wasn't  going  down 
town  at  all  that  morning.  "  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  I 
must,"  he  sighed,  and  reluctantly  took  himself  off. 

Down-town  he  stopped  at  the  surrogate's  office, 
and  verified  the  statements  Peixada  had  made 
about  the  administration  of  his  brother's  estate. 
Mrs.  Peixada  had  taken  the  oath  to  her  accounting 
before  the  United  States  consul  at  Vienna,  Janu 
ary  1 1,  1881,  Short  and  Sondheim  appearing  for  her 
here.  It  was  decidedly  against  the  woman — added, 
if  any  thing  could  add,  to  the  blackness  of  her 
offense — the  fact  that  she  was  represented  by  such 
disreputable  attorneys  as  Short  and  Sondheim. 

From  the  court  house,  Arthur  proceeded  to 
Peixada's  establishment  in  Reade  Street  near 
Broadway.  He  had  concluded  that  the  search 
for  Mrs.  Peixada  would  have  to  be  very  much 
such  an  inch  by  inch  process  as  Hetzel  had 
predicted.  He  could  not  rid  his  mind  of  a 
feeling  that  on  general  principles  it  ought 
to  be  no  hard  task  to  determine  the  whereabouts 
of  a  rich,  handsome,  and  notorious  widow  :  but 
when  he  came  down  to  the  circumstances  of  this 
particular  case,  he  had  to  acknowledge  that  it  was 
an  undertaking  fraught  with  difficulties  and  with 
uncertainties.  He  wanted  to  consult  his  client, 
and  tell  him  the  upshot  of  his  own  deliberations. 
The  more  he  considered  it,  the  more  persuaded  he 


36  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

became  that  he  had  better  cross  the  ocean  and  fol 
low  in  person  the  trail  that  Mrs.  Peixada  had 
doubtless  left  behind  her.  Probably  the  wish 
fostered  the  thought.  As  Hetzel  had  said,  he 
would  not  run  the  risk  of  losing  much  by  his 
absence.  A  summer  in  Europe  had  been  the  fond 
est  dream  of  his  youth.  The  very  occupation  of 
itself,  moreover,  was  inviting.  He  would  be  a 
huntsman — his  game,  a  beautiful  woman  !  And 
then,  to  conduct  the  enterprise  by  letters  would 
not  merely  consume  an  eternity  of  time,  but  ten 
chances  to  one,  it  would  end  in  failure.  It  did  not 
strike  him  that  this  was  properly  a  detective's 
employment,  rather  than  a  lawyer's  ;  and  even  had 
it  done  so,  I  don't  know  that  it  would  have  damp 
ened  his  ardor. — Meanwhile,  he  had  turned  into 
Reade  Street,  and  reached  Peixada's  place.  He 
was  surprised  to  find  it  closed,  until  he  remem 
bered  that  to-day  was  Saturday  and  that  Peixada 
was  an  orthodox  Jew.  So  he  saw  nothing  for  it 
but  to  remain  inactive  till  Monday.  He  returned 
to  his  office,  and  spent  the  remainder  of  the  day 
reading  a  small,  canary-colored  volume  in  the 
French  language — presumably  a  treatise  upon 
French  jurisprudence. 

He  dined  with  a  couple  of  professional  brethren 
at  a  restaurant  that  evening,  and  did  not  get  home 
till  after  dark.  Ascending  his  stoop,  he  stopped  to 
glance  over  at  the  corner  house.  A  light  shone  at 
the  edges  of  the  curtains  in  the  third  story  ;  but 
even  as  he  stood  there,  looking  toward  it,  and 


"A  VOICE,  A  MYSTERY:'  37 

wishing  that  by  some  necromancy  his  gaze  might 
be  empowered  to  penetrate  beyond,  the  light  went 
out.  Immediately  afterward,  however,  he  heard 
the  shades  fly  clattering  upward  ;  and  then,  all  at 
once,  the  silence  was  cloven  by  the  same  beautiful 
soprano  voice  that  had  interested  him  so  much  the 
night  before.  At  first  it  was  very  low  and  soft,  a 
mere  liquid  murmur ;  but  gradually  it  waxed 
stronger  and  more  resonant  ;  and  Arthur  recog 
nized  the  melody  as  that  of  Schubert's  Wohin. 
The  dreamy,  plaintive  phrases,  tremulous  with 
doubt  and  tense  with  yearning,  gushed  in  a  mellow 
stream  from  out  the  darkness.  No  wonder  they 
set  Arthur's  curiosity  on  edge.  The  exquisite 
quality  of  the  voice,  and  the  perfect  understanding 
with  which  the  song  was  interpreted,  were  enough 
to  prompt  a  myriad  visions  of  feminine  loveliness 
in  any  man's  brain.  That  a  woman  could  sing  in 
this  wise,  and  yet  not  be  pure  and  bright  and 
beautiful,  seemed  a  self-contradictory  proposition. 
Arthur  seated  himself  comfortably  upon  the  broad 
stone  balustrade  of  his  door-step,  and  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  would  retain  that  posture  until  the 
musical  entertainment  across  the  way  should  be 
concluded. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  soliloquized,  "  why  she  chooses 
to  sing  in  the  dark.  I  hope,  for  reasons  of  senti 
ment — because  it  is  in  darkness  that  the  effect  of 
music  is  strongest  and  most  subtle.  I  wonder 
whether  she  is  alone,  or  whether  she  is  singing  to 
somebody — perhaps  her  lover.  I  wonder — ah, 


38  MR  S.  PEIXADA. 

with  what  precision  she  caught  that  high  note  ! 
How  firmly  she  held  it  !  How  daintily  she 
executed  the  cadenza  !  A  woman  who  can  sing 
like  this,  how  she  could  love  !  Or  rather,  how  she 
must  have  loved  already  !  For  such  a  comprehen 
sion  of  passion  as  her  music  reveals,  could  never 
have  come  to  be,  except  through  love.  I  wonder 
whether  I  shall  ever  know  her.  Heaven  help  me,  if 
she  should  turn  out,  as  Hetzel  suspects,  old  and 
ugly.  But  that's  not  possible.  Whatever  the  style 
of  her  features  may  be,  whatever  the  number  of 
her  years,  a  young  and  ardent  spirit  stirs  within 
her.  Isn't  it  from  the  spirit  that  true  beauty  springs  ? 
I  mean  by  the  spirit,  the  capability  of  inspiring  and 
of  experiencing  noble  emotions.  This  woman  is 
human.  Her  music  proves  that.  And  just  in  so 
far  as  a  woman  is  deeply,  genuinely  human,  is  she 
lovely  and  lovable." 

In  this  platitudinous  vein  Arthur  went  on. 
Meanwhile  the  lady  had  wandered  away  from 
Schubert's  Wohin,  and  after  a  brief  excursion  up 
and  down  the  keyboard,  had  begun  a  magically 
sweet  and  thrilling  melody,  which  her  auditor  pres 
ently  identified  as  Chopin's  Berceuse,  so  arranged 
that  the  performer  could  re-enforce  certain  periods 
with  her  voice.  He  listened,  captivated,  to  the 
supple  modulations  of  the  music  :  and  it  was  with 
a  sensation  very  like  a  pang  of  physical  pain  that 
suddenly  he  heard  it  come  to  an  abrupt  termina 
tion-break  sharply  off  in  the  middle  of  a  bar,  as 
though  interrupted  by  some  second  person.  u  If 


"A  VOICE,  A  MYSTERY:'  39 

it  is  her  lover  to  whom  she  is  singing,"  he  said,  "  I 
don't  blame  him  for  stopping  her.  He  could  no 
longer  hold  himself  back — resist  the  impulse  to  kiss 
the  lips  from  which  such  beautiful  sounds  take 
wing."  Then,  immediately,  he  reproached  himself 
for  harboring  such  impertinent  fancies.  And  then 
he  waited  on  the  alert,  hoping  that  the  music  would 
recommence.  But  he  waited  and  hoped  in  vain. 
At  last,  "  Well,  I  suppose  there'll  be  no  more 
to-night,"  he  muttered,  and  turned  to  enter  the 
house.  As  he  was  inserting  his  latch-key  into  the 
lock,  somebody  below  on  the  sidewalk  pronounced 
a  hoarse  "  G'd  evening,  Mr.  Ripley." 

11  Ah,  good  evening,  William,"  returned  Arthur, 
affably,  looking  down  at  a  burly  figure  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  steps. — William  was  the  night-watchman 
of  Beekman  Place. 

"  Oh,  I  say — by  the  way — Wrilliam — "  called 
Arthur,  as  the  watchman  was  proceeding  up  the 
street. 

"  Yassir  ?  "  queried  William,  facing  about. 

Arthur  ran  down  the  stoop  and  joined  his  inter 
locutor  at  the  foot. 

"  I  say,  William,  I  see  No.  46  has  found  a  tenant. 
You  don't  happen  to  know  who  it  is  ? " 

"  Yes,"  responded  William  ;  "moved  in  Thurs 
day — old  party  of  the  name  of  Hart." 

"  Old  party  ?  Indeed  !  Then  I  suppose  he  has 
a  daughter — eh  ?  It  was  the  daughter  who  was 
singing  a  little  while  ago  ?  " 

"  I  dunno    if    she's    got    a    darter.     Party's    a 


40  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

woman.  I  hain't  seen  no  darter.  Mebbe  it  was  the 
lady  herself." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  that's  not  possible. — Hart,  do  you  say 
the  name  is  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  G.   Hart." 

"  What  does  G.  stand  for  ? " 

"  I  dunno.     Might  be  John." 

"  Who  is  Mr.  G.  Hart  ?  " 

"  I  guess  there  ain't  none.  Folks  say  she's  a 
widder. — Well,  Wiggins  ought  to  thank  his  stars  to 
have  that  house  taken  at  last.  It's  going  on  four 
years  now,  it's  lain  there  empty." 

Mused  Arthur,  absently,  "  An  old  lady  named 
Hart  ;  and  he  doesn't  know  whether  the  musician 
is  her  daughter  or  not." 

"  Fact  is,"  put  in  William,  "  I  dunno  much  about 
'em — only  what  I've  heerd.  But  we'll  know  all 
about  them  before  long.  Every  body  knows  every 
body  in  this  neighborhood." 

"  Yes,  that's  so. — Well,  good  night." 

"  Good  night,  sir,"  said  William,  touching  his 
cap. 

Upstairs  in  the  sitting-room,  Arthur  threw  him 
self  upon  a  sofa.  Hetzel  was  away.  By  and  by 
Arthur  picked  up  a  book  from  the  table,  and  tried 
to  read.  He  made  no  great  headway,  however  : 
indeed,  an  hour  elapsed,  and  he  had  not  yet 
turned  the  page.  His  thoughts  were  busy  with  the 
fair  one  of  the  corner  house.  He  had  spun  out 
quite  a  history  for  her  before  he  had  done.  He 
devoutly  trusted  that  ere  long  Fate  would  arrange 


"A    VOICE,  A  MYSTERY."  41 

a  meeting  between  her  and  himself.  He  whistled 
over  the  melody  of  Wohin,  imitating  as  nearly  as 
he  could  the  manner  in  which  she  had  sung  it. 
When  his  mind  reverted  to  the  Peixada  business, 
as  it  did  presently,  lo  !  the  prospective  trip  to 
Europe  had  lost  half  its  charm.  He  felt  that  there 
was  plenty  to  keep  one  interested  here  in  New 
York. 

All  day  Sunday,  despite  the  fun  at  his  expense  in 
which  Hetzel  liberally  indulged,  Arthur  haunted 
the  front  of  the  house.  But  when  he  went  to  bed 
Sunday  night,  he  was  no  wiser  respecting  his  musi 
cal  neighbor  than  he  had  been  four-and-twenty 
hours  before. 


CHAPTER  III. 

STATISTICAL. 

MONDAY  morning  Arthur  entered  Peixada's 
warehouse  promptly  as  the  clock  struck  ten. 
Peixada  had  not  yet  got  down. 

Arthur  was  conducted  by  a  dapper  little  salesman 
to  an  inclosure  fenced  off  at  the  rear  of  the  show 
room,  and  bidden  to  "  make  himself  at  home."  By 
and  by,  to  kill  time,  he  picked  up  a  directory — the 
only  literature  in  sight — and  extracted  what  amuse 
ment  he  could  from  it,  by  hunting  out  the  names  of 
famous  people — statesmen,  financiers,  etc.  The 
celebrities  exhausted,  he  turned  to  his  own  name 
and  to  those  of  his  friends.  Among  others,  he 
looked  for  Hart.  Of  Harts  there  were  a  multitude, 
but  of  G.  Harts  only  three — a  Gustav,  a  Gerson, 
and  a  George.  George  was  written  down  a  laborer, 
Gerson  a  peddler,  Gustav  a  barber  ;  none,  it  was 
obvious,  could  be  the  G.  Hart  of  Beekman  Place. 
In  about  half  an  hour  Peixada  arrived. 

"  Ah,  good  morning,"  he  said  briskly.     "  Well  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  bother  you  so  soon  again,  Mr. 
Peixada,"  said  Arthur,  stiffly  ;  "  but " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  Peixada  interrupted. 
"  Glad  to  see  you.  Sit  down.  Smoke  a  cigar." 


STATISTICAL.  43 

"Then,"  pursued  Arthur,  his  cigar  afire,  "hav 
ing  thought  the  matter  well  over " 

"  You  have  concluded —  ?  " 

"  That  your  view  of  the  case  was  correct — that 
we're  in  for  a  long,  expensive,  and  delicate  piece  of 
business." 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it." 

"  You  see,  beforehand  it  would  strike  one  as  the 
simplest  thing  in  the  world  to  locate  a  woman  like 
your  sister-in-law.  But  this  case  is  peculiar.  It's 
going  on  four  years  that  nobody  has  heard  from 
her.  Clear  back  in  January,  1881,  she  was  some 
where  in  Vienna.  But  since  then  she's  had  the 
leisure  to  travel  around  the  world  a  dozen  times. 
She  may  be  in  Australia,  California,  Brazil — or  not 
a  mile  away  from  us,  here  in  New  York.  She  may 
have  changed  her  name.  She  may  have  married 
again.  She  may  have  died. — The  point  I'm  driving 
at  is  that  you  mustn't  attribute  it  to  a  lack  of  dili 
gence  on  my  part,  if  we  shouldn't  obtain  any  satis 
factory  results  for  a  long  while." 

"Oh,  certainly  not,  certainly  not,"  protested 
Peixada,  making  the  words  very  large,  and  waving 
his  hand  deprecatingly.  "  I'm  a  man  of  common 
sense,  a  business  man.  I  don't  need  to  be  told  that 
it's  going  to  be  slow  work.  I  knew  that.  Other 
wise  I  shouldn't  have  hired  you.  I  could  have 
managed  it  by  myself,  except  that  I  hadn't  the 
time  to  spare." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Arthur,  undismayed  by  Peix- 
ada's  frankness,  "  my  idea  of  the  tactics  to  be  pur- 


44  AfRS.  PEIXADA. 

sued  is  to  begin  with  Vienna,  January,  'Si,  and 
proceed  inch  by  inch  down  to  the  present  time. 
There  are  two  methods  of  doing  this." 

"  Which  are ? " 

"  One  is  to  enlist  the  services  of  the  United 
States  consuls.  I  can  write  to  Vienna,  to  our  con 
sul,  and  ask  him  to  find  out  where  Mrs.  Peixada 
went  when  she  left  there  ;  then  to  the  consul  at 
the  next  place — and  so  on  to  the  end.  But  this 
method  is  cumbrous  and  uncertain.  The  trail  is 
liable  to  be  lost  at  any  point.  At  the  best,  it 
would  take  a  long,  long  time.  Besides,  the  consuls 
would  expect  a  large  remuneration." 

"  Well,  the  other  method  ?  " 

"  I  propose  it  reluctantly.  It  is  one  which,  so 
far  as  my  personal  inclinations  are  concerned,  1 
should  prefer  not  to  take.  I — I  might  myself  go 
to  Vienna  and  conduct  the  investigation  on  the 
spot." 

"  Hum,"  reflected  Peixada.— After  a  pause, 
"  That  would  be  still  more  expensive,"  he  said. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Sure. — It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  a  third 
method  which  you  haven't  thought  of." 

"  Indeed  ?  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why  not  engage  the  services  of  an  attorney  in 
Vienna,  instead  of  the  consul's  ?  You  can  easily 
get  the  name  of  some  reliable  attorney  there. 
Then  write  on,  stating  the  case,  and  offering  a  sum 
in  consideration  of  which  he  is  to  furnish  us  with 
the  information  we  want." 


STA  TISTICAL.  45 

"  Yes,  I  might  do  that,"  Arthur  answered,  with 
a  mortifying  sense  that  Peixada's  plan  was  at  once 
more  practical  and  more  promising  than  either  of 
those  which  he  had  proposed. 

"  Better  try  it,  anyhow,"  his  client  went  on. 
"  Attorney's  fees,  as  I  chance  to  know,  are  low  in 
Austria.  Fifty  dollars  ought  to  be  ample  for  a 
starter.  I'll  give  you  a  check  for  that  amount  now. 
You  can  exchange  it  for  a  draft,  after  you've 
decided  on  your  man." 

Peixada  filled  out  a  check.  Arthur  took  up  his 
hat. 

"  Oh,  apropos,"  said  Peixada,  without  explaining 
what  it  was  apropos  of,  "  I  showed  you  some  news 
paper  clippings  about  Mrs.  P.'s  trial  the  other  day 
— recollect  ?  Well,  I've  got  a  scrapbook  full  of 
them  in  my  safe.  Suppose  you'd  find  it  useful  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It  could  do  no  harm  for  me  to 
run  it  over." 

Peixada  touched  a  bell,  gave  the  requisite  orders 
to  the  underling  who  responded,  and  said  to 
Arthur,  "He'll  fetch  it." 

Presently  the  man  returned,  bearing  a  large, 
square  volume,  bound  in  bluish  black  leather. 
Arthur  bowed  himself  out,  with  the  volume  under 
his  arm. 

The  remainder  of  the  day  he  passed  in  procuring 
the  name  of  a  trustworthy  Viennese  attorney, 
drafting  a  letter  to  him  in  English,  and  having  it 
translated  into  German.  The  attorney's  name  was 
Ulrich.  Arthur  inclosed  the  amount  of  Peixada's 


46  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

check  in  the  form  of  an  order  upon  an  Americo- 
Austrian  banking  house.  At  last,  weary,  and  with 
his  zeal  in  Peixada's  cause  somewhat  abated,  he 
went  home. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  he  dropped  into  a 
concert  garden  on  Fifty-eighth  Street.  He  had 
not  been  seated  there  a  great  while  before  some 
body  greeted  him  with  a  familiar  tap  upon  the 
shoulder  and  an  easy  "  H'w  are  you  ?  "  Looking 
up,  he  saw  Mr.  Rimo. 

"  Ah,"  said  Arthur,  offering  his  hand,  "  how  do 
you  do  ?  Sit  down." 

Mr.  Rimo  had  an  odoriferous  jonquil  in  his  but 
tonhole,  and  carried  a  silver-headed  Malacca  cane. 
He  drew  up  to  the  table,  lit  a  cigar  with  a  wax 
match,  and  called  for  Vichy  water. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Ripley,"  he  questioned  solicitously, 
"  how  arejiw/  getting  on  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,  thanks.  I  saw  your  uncle  this 
morning." 

"  That  so  ?  Any  news  ?  " 

"You  mean  about  the  case?  Nothing  decisive  as 
yet.  It's  hardly  time  to  expect  anything." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  of  course  not.  I'll  tell  you  one  thing. 
You've  got  a  nice  job  before  you." 

"  Yes,  and  an  odd  one." 

"  What  I  was  thinking  of  especially  was  the  lady. 
She's  a  specimen.  Not  many  like  her." 

"  It's  to  be  hoped  not.  You  of  course  knew  her 
very  well  ?  " 


STATISTICAL.  47 

«  No,  I  can't  say  as  I  did.  I  can't  say  as  I 
knew  her  very  well.  She  wasn't  an  easy  woman  to 
know.  But  I'd  seen  a  great  deal  of  her.  It  was  a 
mere  chance  that  I  didn't  marry  her  myself. 
Lucky,  wasn't  I  ?  " 

"  Why,  how  was  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  was  this  way.  You  see,  one  evening 
while  she  was  still  Miss  Karon,  I  called  on  her. 
Who  should  sail  in  five  minutes  later  but  Uncle 
Barney  ?  She  was  right  up  to  the  top  notch  that 
evening— devilish  handsome,  with  her  black  eyes 
and  high  color,  and  as  sharp  as  an  IXL  blade. 
When  we  left— we  left  together,  the  old  man  and  I 
—when  we  left,  I  was  saying  to  myself,  '  By  gad,  I 
couldn't  do  better.  I'll  propose  for  her  to-morrow.' 
Just  then  he  pipes  up.  *  What  is  your  opinion  of 
that  young  lady  ? '  he  asks.  '  My  opinion  ? '  says  I. 
1  My  opinion  is  that  she's  a  mighty  fine  gal.' 
*  Well,  you  bet  she  is,'  says  he  ;  'and  I'm  glad  you 
think  so,  because  she's  apt  to  be  your  auntie  before 
a  great  while.'  '  The  devil !'  says  I.  'Yes,  sir,' 
says  he.  '  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  her. 
I'm  going  to  speak  to  her  father  about  it  in  the 
morning.'  Well,  of  course  that  settled  my  hash.  I 
wasn't  going  to  gamble  against  my  uncle.  Narrow 
escape,  hey  ? " 

Having  concluded  this  picturesque  narrative, 
Mr.  Rimo  emptied  a  bumper  of  sparkling  Vichy 
water,  with  the  remark,  "  Well,  here's  to  you," 
and  applied  a  second  wax  match  to  his  cigar, 
which  had  gone  out  while  he  was  speaking. 


48  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  Who  were  her  people  ?  "  asked  Arthur.    "  What 
sort  of  a  family  did  she  come  from  ? " 

"  Oh,  her  family  was  correct  enough.     Name  was 
Karon,  as  you  know  already.     Her  old  man  was  a 
watch-maker  by  trade,  and  kept  a  shop  on  Second 
Avenue.     I    guess    he    did   a    pretty  comfortable 
business    till   he   got   struck    on    electricity.     He 
invented  some  sort  of  an  electric  clock,   and  sent 
it  to  the  Centennial  at  Philadelphia.     It  took  the 
cake  ;  and  after  that   Michael   Karon  was  a  ruined 
man.     Why  ?     Because    after  that    he     neglected 
his  business,    and   spent   all   his   time  and  all  the 
money  he  had  saved,  in  fooling  around  and  trying 
to  improve  what  the  Centennial  judges  had  thought 
was   good    enough.     He   couldn't   let   well   alone. 
Result  was  he   spoiled  the  clock,  and  went  all  to 
pieces.     He   was    in  a  desperate  bad    way    when 
Uncle  Barney  stepped  up  and  married  his  daugh 
ter.     Hang  a  man  who's  got  an  itch  for  improve 
ment.     What  I  say  is,   lay  on  to  a  good  thing,  and 
then  stick  to  it  for  all  you're  worth." 

"  He    died    shortly  after    the    marriage,   didn't 

he?" 

«  Yes— handed  in  his  checks  that  fall.  She  had 
had  a  tip-top  education  ;  used  to  give  lessons  in 
music,  and  this,  that,  and  the  other  'ology.  She 
was  the  most  knowing  creature  I  ever  saw— had 
no  end  of  chochmah.  Don't  know  what  chochmah  is  ? 
Well,  that  means  Jewish  shrewdness  ;  and  she 
held  a  corner  in  it,  too.  But  such  a  temper  !  Lord, 
'  when  she  got  excited,  her  eyes  were  terrible.  I 


STA  77 'STIC 'A L.  49 

can  just  imagine  her  downing  the  old  man.  I'll 
never  forget  the  way  she  looked  at  me  one  time." 

"  Tell  me  about  it." 

"  Oh,  there  ain't  much  to  tell — only  this.  Of 
course,  you  know,  it's  the  fashion  to  kiss  the  bride 
at  her  wedding.  But  I  happened  to  be  on  the 
road  at  the  date  of  their  wedding,  and  couldn't  get 
back  in  time.  I  didn't  mean  to  lose  that  kiss,  just  the 
same.  So  when  I  called  on  them,  after  my  return, 

*  Aunt   Judith,'  says  I,  '  when  are    you   going  to 
liquidate    that  little    debt  you  owe   me  ? '     '  Owe 
you  ? '  says  she,  looking  surprised.     *  I  didn't  know 
lowed  you  anything.'     'Why,   certainly,' says  I  ; 

*  you  owe  me  a  kiss:'     She  laughed  and  shied  off 
and  tried  to  change  the  subject.     '  Come/  says  I, 
'  step  up  to  the  captain's  office  and  settle.'      '  Yes,' 
says   Uncle   Barney,   'kiss  your   nephew,    Judith.' 
'But  I  don't  want  to  kiss  him,'  says  she,  beginning  to 
look  dark.  '  You  kiss  him,'  says  Uncle  Barney,  look 
ing  darker.    And  she — she  kissed  me.    But,  gad,  the 
way  she  glared  !  Her  eyes  were  just  swimming  in 
fire.     I  swear,    it  frightened  me  ;  and   I'm  pretty 
tough.     I  don't  want  any  more  kisses  of  that  sort, 
thank  you.     It  stung  my  lips  like  a  hornet."     Mr. 
Rimo  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  caressed  the  knob 
of  his  cane  with  the 


50  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Barney's  coachman.  After  the  old  boy  got  mar 
ried  and  retired  from  business,  he  set  up  a  team, 
and  undertook  to  be  aristocratic.  The  theory  was 
that  when  he  and  she  began  rowing  that  night, 
Bolen  attempted  to  step  in  between  them,  and  that 
she  just  reminded  him  of  his  proper  place  with  an 
ounce  of  lead.  She  never  was  tried  for  his  murder. 
I  suppose  her  acquittal  in  the  case  of  Uncle  Bar 
ney  made  the  authorities  think  it  wouldn't  pay  to 
try  her  again.  Every  body  said  it  was  an  infernal 
outrage  for  her  to  go  free  ;  but  between  you  and 
me — and  mum's  the  word — I  was  real  glad  of  it. 
Not  that  she  hadn't  ought  to  have  been  punished 
for  shooting  her  husband.  But  to  have  locked  up 
her  confoundedly  pretty  face  out  of  sight  in  a 
prison — that  would  have  been  an  infernal  outrage, 
and  no  mistake.  As  for  hanging  her,  they'd  never 
have  hanged  her,  anyhow — not  even  if  the  jury  had 
convicted.  But  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  she  was 
innocent.  Sane  ?  Well,  you  never  saw  a  saner 
woman.  She  knew  what  she  was  about  better  than 
you  and  I  do  now." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  the  murder  ?  What 
motive  do  you  assign  ?  " 

"  Most  everybody  said  *  money' — claimed  that 
she  went  deliberately  to  work  and  killed  the  old 
man  for  his  money.  Some  few  thought  there  must 
be  another  man  at  the  bottom  of  it — that  she  had  a 
paramour  who  put  her  up  to  it.  But  they  didn't 
know  her.  She  had  a  hot  temper  ;  but  as  far  as 
men  were  concerned,  she  was  as  cool  as  a  Roman 


STA  TISTICAL.  5 1 

punch.  My  own  notion  is  that  she  did  it  in  a  fit  of 
passion.  He  irritated  her  somehow,  and  she  got 
mad,  and  let  fire.  You  see,  I  recollect  the  way  she 
glared  at  me  that  time.  Savage  was  no  word  for 
it.  If  she'd  had  a  gun  in  her  hand,  my  life  wouldn't 
have  been  worth  that  "—and  Mr.  Rimo  snapped  his 
fingers. 

"  I  must  say,  you  have  contrived  to  interest  me 
in  her.  I  shall  be  glad  when  I  have  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  her  with  my  own  eyes." 

"  Well,  you  take  my  advice.  When  you've  found 
out  her  whereabouts,  don't  go  too  close,  as  they  tell 
the  boys  at  the  menagerie.  She's  as  vicious  as 
they  make  them,  I  don't  deny  it.  But  she's  got  a 
wonderful  fascination  about  her,  notwithstanding, 
and  if  she  thought  it  worth  her  while,  she  could  wind 
you  around  her  finger  like  a  hair,  and  never  know 
she'd  done  it.  I  wish  you  the  best  possible  luck." 

Mr.  Rimo  rose,  shook  hands,  moved  off. 

Arthur's  dreams  that  night  were  haunted  by  a 
wild,  fierce,  Medusa-like  woman's  face. 

At  his  office,  next  morning,  the  first  object  that 
caught  his  eye  was  the  black,  leather-bound  scrap- 
book  that  Peixada  had  given  him  yesterday.  It  lay 
where  he  had  left  it,  on  his  desk.  Beginning  by 
listlessly  turning  the  pages,  he  gradually  became 
interested  in  their  contents.  I  shall  have  to  beg 
the  reader's  attention  to  an  abstract  of  Mrs.  Peix- 
ada's  trial,  before  my  story  can  be  completed  ;  and 
I  may  as  well  do  so  now, 


52  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

The  prosecution  set  out  logically  by  establishing 
the  fact  of  death.  A  surgeon  testified  to  all  that 
was  essential  in  this  regard.  The  second  witness  was 
one  Patrick  Martin.  I  copy  his  testimony  word 
for  word  from  the  columns  of  the  New  York  Daily 
Gazette. 

«  Mr.  Martin,"  began  the  district-attorney,  "  what 

is  your  business  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  merchant,  sir." 

"  And  the  commodities  in  which  you  deal  are—  ? " 
"  Ales,  wines,  and  liquors,  your  honor." 
"  At  retail  or  wholesale  ?  " 
"  Both,  sir  ;  but  mostly  retail." 
"  Where  is  your  store  situated,  Mr.  Martin  ?  " 
«  On  the  southwest  corner  of  Eighty-fifth  Street 
and  Ninth  Avenue." 

«  Was  the  residence  of  the  deceased,  Mr.  Bern 
ard  Peixada,  near  to  your  place  of  business  ?  " 
"  It  was,  sir— on  the  next  block." 
"  What  block  ?  How  is  the  block  bounded  ?  " 
"  The  block,  sir,  is  bounded  by  Eighty-fifth  and 
Eighty-sixth  Streets,  and  Ninth  and  Tenth  Avenues, 
your  honor." 

"  Many  houses  on  that  block  ?  " 
"  None,  your  honor  ;    only  the  house  of  the  de 
ceased.     That  stands  on  the  top  of  a  hiU,  back 
from  the  street,  with  big  grounds  around  it." 
"  Had  Mr.  Peixada  lived  there  long  ?" 
"  Since  the  ist  of  May,  this  year." 
«  Now,  Mr.  Martin,  do  you  remember  the  night 
of  July  joth?" 


STA  TISTICAL.  S3 

"  Faith,  I  do,  sir  ;  and  I'll  not  soon  forget  it." 

"  Good.  Will  you,  then,  as  clearly  and  as  fully 
as  you  can,  tell  the  court  and  jury  all  the  circum 
stances  that  combine  to  fix  the  night  of  July  3oth 
in  your  memory  ?  Take  your  time,  speak  up  loudly, 
and  look  straight  at  the  twelfth  juryman." 

"  Well,  sir,  on  that  night,  toward  two  o'clock  the 
next  morning — " 

(Laughter  among  the  auditors  ;  speedily  repressed 
by  the  court  attendants.) 

"  Don't  be  disconcerted,  Mr.  Martin.  On  the 
morning  of  July  3ist  ?  " 

"  The  same,  sir.  On  that  morning,  at  about  two 
o'clock,  T  was  outside  in  the  street,  putting  the 
shutters  over  the  windows  of  my  store.  While  I 
was  doing  it,  your  honor,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
heard  a  noise — very  weak  and  far  away — like  as  if 
some  one — a  woman,  or  it  might  be  a  child — was 
crying  out.  I  stopped  for  a  moment,  sir,  and  lis 
tened.  Sure  enough,  I  heard  a  voice  — so  faint 
you'd  never  have  known  it  from  the  wind,  except 
by  sharpening  your  ears — I  heard  a  voice,  coming 
down. the  hill  from  the  Jew's  house  over  the 
way.  I  couldn't  make  out  no  words,  but  it  was 
that  thin  and  screechy  that,  *  Certain,'  says  I  to 
myself,  '  that  old  felley  there  is  up  to  some  mis 
chief,  or  my  name's  not  Patsy  Martin.'  Well,  after 
I  had  got  done  with  the  shutters,  I  went  into  the 
house  by  the  family  entrance,  and  says  I  to  my 
wife,  '  There's  a  woman  yelling  in  the  house  on  the 
hill,'  says  I.  *  What  of  that  ? '  says  she.  '  Maybe 


54  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

I'd  better  go  up,'  says  I.     *  You'd  better  be  after 
coming  to  bed  and  minding  your  business,'  says 

rshe.     '  It's  most  likely  a  way  them  heathen  have  of 
amusing  themselves,'  says  she.     But,  '  No,'  says  I. 
'  Some  one's  in  distress,'  says  I  ;  '  and  I  guess  the 
best  thing  I  can  do  will  be  to  light  a  lantern  and 
go  along  up,'  says  I.     So  my  wife,  your  honor,  she 
lights  the  lantern  for  me,  and,   '  Damminus  take 
'em,'  says  she,  to  wish  me  good  luck  ;    and  off  I 
started,  across  the  street,  through  the  gate,  and  up 
the  wagon-road  that    leads    to   Peixada's    house. 
Meanwhile,  your  honor,  the  screaming  had  stopped. 
Never  a  whisper  more  did  I  hear  ;  and  thinks  I  to 
myself,  '  It  was  only  my  imagination,'  thinks  I— 
when  whist !  All  of  a  sudden,   not  two   feet  away 
from  me,  there  in  the  road,  a  voice  calls  out '  Help, 
help.'     The  devil  take  me,  I  thought  }I'd  jump  out 
of  my  skin  for  fright,  it  came  so  unexpected.     But 
I  raised  my  lantern  all  the  same,  and  cast  a  look 
around  ;  and  there  before  me  on  the  ground,  I  seen 
an  object  which,  as  true  as  gospel,   I  took  to  be  a 
ghost  until  I  recognized  it  for  Mrs.   Peixada— the 
lady  that's  sitting  behind  you,  sir— the  Jew's  wife, 
herself.     There  she  lay,  kneeling  in  front  of  me  ; 
and  when  she  seen  who  I  was,  *  Help,  for  God's 
sake,  help,'  says  she,  for  all  the  world  like  a  Chris-^ 
tgan.     I  knew  right  away   that  something  wrong 
had  happened,  from  her  scared  face  and  big,  star 
ing  eyes  ;  and  besides,  her  bare  feet  and  the  white 
rag  she  wore  in  the  place  of  a  decent  dress — 
At  this  point  considerable  sensation  was  created 


STATISTICAL.  55 

among  the  audience  by  the  prosecuting  attorney, 
who,  interrupting  the  witness  and  addressing  the 
court,  remarked,  "  Your  honor  will  observe  that  the 
prisoner  has  covered  her  face  with  a  veil.  This  is 
a  piece  of  theatricalism  against  which  I  must  em 
phatically  protest.  It  is,  moreover,  the  jury's  pre 
rogative  to  watch  the  prisoner's  physiognomy,  as 
the  story  of  her  crime  is  told." 

Recorder  Hewitt  ordered  the  prisoner  to  remove 
her  veil. 

"  Go  on,  Mr.  Martin,"  said  the  prosecutor  to  the 

witness. 

"  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  saying,  there  I  seen  Mrs.  Peix- 
ada,  half  crouching  and  half  sitting  there  in  the  road. 
And  when  I  got  over  the  start  she  gave  me, '  Excuse 
me,  ma'am,'  says  I,  '  but  didn't  I  hear  you  hol 
lering  out  for  help  ?'  '  Faith,  you  did,'  says  she. 
1  Well,  here  I  am,  ma'am,'  says  I;  '  and  now,  will  you 
be  kind  enough  to  inform  me  what's  the  trouble  ?' 
says  I.  '  The  trouble  ?'  says  she.  '  The  trouble  is 
that  there's  two  men  kilt  up  at  the  house,  that's 
what's  the  trouble,'  says  she.  '  Kilt  ?'  says  I. 
'  Yes,  shot,'  says  she.  '  And  who  shot  them  ?'  says 
I.  <  Myself,'  says  she.  «  Mother  o'  God  !'  says  I. 
'  Well,'  says  she,  '  wont  you  be  after  going  up  to  the 
house  and  trying  to  help  the  poor  wretches  ?'  says 
she.  '  I  don't  know  but  I  will,'  says  I.  And  on  up 
the  road  to  the  house  I  went.  The  front  door, 
your  honor,  was  open  wide,  and  the  gas  blazing  at 
full  head  within.  I  ran  up  the  steps  and  through 
the  vestibil,  and  there  in  the  hall  I  seen  that  what 


56  MRS.  PRIX  AD  A. 

Mrs.  Peixada  had  said  was  the  truest  word  she  ever 
spoke  in  her  life.  Old  Peixada,  he  lay  there  on 
one  side,  as  dead  as  sour  beer,  with  blood  all 
around  him  ;  and  on  the  other  side  lay  Mr.  Bolen 
— whom  I  knew  well,  for  he  was  a  good  customer 
of  my  own,  your  honor — more  dead  than  the  Jew, 
if  one  might  say  so.  I,  sir,  I  just  remained  long 
enough  to  cross  myself  and  whisper,  '  God  have 
mercy  on  them  ;'  and  then  off  I  went  to  call  an 
officer.  On  the  way  down  the  hill,  I  passed  Mrs. 
Peixada  again  ;  and  this  time  she  was  laying  out 
stiff  in  the  road,  with  her  eyes  closed  and  her  mouth 
open,  like  she  was  in  a  fit.  She  had  nothing  on 
but  that  white  gown  I  spoke  of  before  ;  and  very 
elegant  she  looked,  your  honor,  flat  there,  like  a 
corpse." 

Again  the  district-attorney  stopped  the  witness. 

"  Your  honor,"  he  said,  "  I  must  again  direct  your 
attention  to  the  irregular  conduct  of  the  prisoner. 
She  has  now  turned  her  back  to  the  jury,  and  cov 
ered  her  face  with  her  hands.  This  is  merely  a 
method  of  evading  the  injunction  which  your  honor 
saw  fit  to  impose  upon  her  with  respect  to  her  veil. 
I  must  insist  upon  her  displaying  her  full  face  to 
the  jury." 

Mr.  Sondheim,  of  counsel  for  the  defendant  : 
"  If  the  Court  please,  it  strikes  me  that  my  learned 
brother  is  really  a  trifle  too  exacting.  I  can  cer 
tainly  see  no  objection  to  my  client's  holding  her 
hands  to  her  face.  Considering  the  painfulness  of 
her  situation,  it  is  no  more  than  natural  that  she 


STATISTICAL.  57 

should  desire  to  shield  her  face.     I   must  beg  the 
Court  to  remember  that  this  prisoner  is  no  ordinary  L 
criminal,   but  a   lady   of  refined  and  sensitive  in 
stincts.     A  little  indulgence,  it  seems  to  me,  is  due 
to  her  on  account  of  her  sex." 

The  district-attorney  :  "  The  prisoner  had  better 
understand  once  for  all  that  her  sex  isn't  going  to 
protect  her  in  this  prosecution.  The  law  is  no 
respecter  of  sex.  As  for  her  refined  and  sensitive 
instincts,  if  she  has  any,  I  advise  her  to  put  them  into 
her  pocket.  This  jury  has  too  much  good  sense  to 
be  affected  by  any  exhibition  that  she  may  make 
for  their  benefit.  I  submit  the  matter  to  the 
Court's  good  judgment." 

The  recorder :  "  Madam,  you  will  turn  your 
chair  toward  the  jury,  and  keep  your  face  uncov 
ered." 

The  district-attorney  :  "  Well,  Mr.  Martin,  what 
next  ? " 

The  witness  :  "  Well,  sir,  I  hurried  along  down 
as  fast  as  ever  I  could,  and  stopped  at  my  own 
place  just  long  enough  to  tell  my  wife  what  had 
happened,  and  to  send  her  up  to  Mrs.  Peixada  with 
a  bottle  of  spirits  to  bring  her  around.  Then  I 
went  to  the  station-house,  and  informed  the  gentle 
man  at  the  desk  of  the  state  of  affairs.  Him  and  a 
couple  of  officers  came  back  with  me  ;  and  they, 
your  honor,  took  charge  of  the  premises,  and — and 
that's  all  I  know  about  it." 

Martin  was  not  cross-examined.  Police  Sergeant 
Riley,  succeeding  him,  gave  an  account  of  the  pris- 


58  MAS.  PEIXADA. 

oner's  arrest  and  of  her  subsequent  demeanor  at 
the  station-house.     "  The  lady,"  said  he,  "  appeared 
to  be  unable  to  walk — leastwise,  she  limped  all  the 
way  with  great  difficulty.  We  thought  she  was  sham 
ming,  and  treated  her  accordingly.    But  afterwards 
it  turned  out  that  she  had  a  sprained  ankle."     She 
had  answered  the  formal  questions — name  ?  age  ? 
residence  ?— in  full  ;  and  to  the  inquiry  whether  she 
desired  to  make  any  statement  or  remark  relative 
to  the  charge  preferred  against  her,  had   replied, 
"  Nothing,  except  that  I  shot  them  both— Bernard 
Peixada  and   Edward   Bolen."     They  had  locked 
her  up  in  the  captain's  private  room  for  the  rest  of 
the  night ;  and  the  following  morning  she  had  been 
transferred  to  the  Tombs. 

The  next  witness  was  Miss  Ann  Doyle. 

"  Miss  Doyle,  what   is  your  occupation  ?  "  asked 
the  district-attorney. 

"  I  am  a  cook,  sir." 

"  Have  you  a  situation,  at  present  ?  " 

"  I  have  not,  sir." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  idle  ?  " 

"  Since  the  3ist  of  July,  sir." 

"  Prior  to  that  date  where  were  you  employed  ?  " 

"  In  the  family  of  Mr.  Peixada,  sir." 

"  Were  you  present  at  Mr.   Peixada's  house  on 
the  night  of  July  3oth  ?  " 

"I  was  not,  sir." 

"  Tell  us,  please,  how  you  came  to  be  absent  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  just  after  dinner,  along  about  seven 
o'clock,  Mrs.  Peixada,  who  was  laying    abed  with 


STATISTICAL.  59 

a  sore  foot,  she  called  me  to  her,  sir,  and,  'Ann,' 
says  she,  '  you  can  have  the  evening  out,  and  you 
needn't  come  home  till  to-morrow  morning/  sir, 
says  she." 

"  And  you  availed  yourself  of  this  privilege  ?  " 

"  Sure,  I  did,  sir.  I  came  home  the  next  morn 
ing,  sir,  in  time  to  get  breakfast,  having  passed  the 
night  at  my  sister's  ;  and  when  I  got  there,  sir — " 

"  Never  mind  about  that,  Miss  Doyle.  Now,  tell 
us,  was  it  a  customary  thing  for  Mrs.  Peixada  to  let 
you  go  away  for  the  entire  night  ?  " 

"  She  never  did  it  before,  sir.  Of  course  I  had 
my  regular  Thursday  and  Sunday,  but  I  was  always 
expected  to  be  in  the  house  by  ten  o'clock,  sir." 

"  That  will  do,  Miss  Doyle.  Miss  Katharine 
Mahoney,  take  the  stand." 

Miss  Mahoney  described  herself  as  an  "  up 
stairs  girl,"  and  said  that  she,  too,  until  the  date 
of  the  murder,  had  been  employed  in  Mr.  Peixada's 
household.  To  her  also,  on  the  evening  of  July 
3oth,  Mrs.  Peixada  had  accorded  leave  of  absence 
for  the  night. 

"So  that,"  reasoned  the  district-attorney,  "all 
the  servants  were  away,  by  the  prisoner's  prear- 
rangement,  at  the  hour  of  the  perpetration  of  the 
crime  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  since  me  and  Ann  were  the  only  serv 
ants  they  kept.  Mr.  Bolen  staid  behind,  to  his 
sorrow." 

In  the  case  of  each  of  these  witnesses,  the  pris 
oner's  counsel  waived  cross-examination,  saying, 


60  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  If  the  court  please,  we  shall  not  take  issue  on  the 
allegations  of  fact." 

The  prosecution  rested,  reserving,  however,  the 
right  to  call  witnesses  in  rebuttal,  if  need  should  be. 
The  defense  started  with  a  physician,  Dr.  Leopold 
Jetz,  of  Lexington  Avenue,  near  Fifty-ninth  Street. 
"  Dr.  Jetz,  how  long  have  you  known  Mrs.  Peix- 
ada,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ? " 

"  Ever  since  she  was  born.     I   helped  to  bring 
her  into  the  world."  « 

"  When  did  you  last  attend  her  professionally  ?  " 
"  I  paid  her  my  last  professional  visit  on  the  ist 
of  August,  1878  ;  eight  days  before  she  was  mar 
ried." 

"  What  was  her  trouble  at  that  time  ?  " 
"  General  depression  of  the  nervous  system.    To 
speak   technically,  cerebral  anemia,  or  insufficient 
nourishment  of  the  brain,    complicated  by  sacral 
neuralgia— neuralgia  at  the  base  of  the  spine." 
"Were  these  ailments  of  long  standing  ?  " 
"  I  was  called  in  on  the  29th  of  May.     I  treated 
her  consecutively  till    August  ist.      That    would 
make  two  months.     But  she  had  been  suffering  for 
some  time  before  I  was  summoned.     The  troubles 
had    crept   upon   her   gradually.     On   the   8th    of 
August  she  was  married.     She  had  just  completed 
her  nineteenth  year." 

"  Now,  doctor,  was  the  condition  of  Mrs.  Peix- 
ada's  health,  at  the  time  your  treatment  was  discon 
tinued,  such  as  to  predispose  her  to  insanity  ?  " 
(Question  objected  to,  on   the  ground   that  the 


STATISTICAL.  61 

witness  had  not  been  produced  as  an  expert,  and 
that  his  competence  to  give  expert  testimony  was 
not  established.  Objection  overruled.) 

"  In  my  opinion,"  said  Dr.  Jetz,  "  at  the  time  I 
last  saw  her  professionally,  Mrs.  Peixada  was  in  an 
exceedingly  critical  condition.  Although  evincing 
no  symptoms  of  insanity  proper,  her  brain  was 
highly  irritated,  and  her  whole  nervous  system  de 
ranged  ;  so  that  an  additional  strain  of  any  kind  put 
upon  her,  might  easily  have  precipitated  acute  mania. 
I  told  her  father  that  she  was  in  no  wise  fit  to  get 
married  ;  but  he  chose  to  disregard  my  advice.  I 
think  I  may  answer  your  question  affirmatively,  and 
say  that  her  health  was  such  as  to  predispose  her  to 
insanity. 

By  the  district  attorney  :  "  Doctor,  are  your  sen 
timents — your  personal  sentiments — for  the  pris 
oner  of  a  friendly  or  an  unfriendly  nature  ?  " 

"  Decidedly,  sir,  of  a  friendly  nature." 

"  You  would  be  sorry  to  see  her  hanged  ?" 

The  doctor  replied  by  a  gesture. 

"  Or  sent  to  State  Prison  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  it." 

"  You  would  do  your  utmost — would  you  not  ? — 
to  save  her  from  such  a  fate  ? " 

"  Eagerly,  sir,  eagerly." 

"  That's  sufficient,  doctor." 

An  alienist  of  some  distinction  followed  Dr.  Jetz. 
He  said  that  he  had  listened  attentively  to  the  evi 
dence  so  far  adduced  in  court,  had  read  the  deposi 
tions  taken  before  the  magistrate  and  the  coroner, 


62  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

had  conferred  at  length  with  the  preceding  witness, 
and  finally  had  made  a  diagnosis  of  Mrs.  Peixada's 
case  in  her  cell  at  the  Tombs.  He  believed  that, 
though  perfectly  sane  and  responsible  at  present, 
she  had  "  within  a  brief  period  suffered  from  a  dis 
turbance  of  cerebral  function."  There  were  "  indi 
cations  which  led  him  to  infer  that  at  the  time  of 
the  homicide  she  was  organically  a  lunatic."  The 
district-attorney  took  him  in  hand. 

"  Doctor,  are  you  the  author  of  a  work  entitled, 
'  Pathology  of  Mind  Popularly  Expounded  '-—pub 
lished,  as  I  see  by  the  title  page,  in  1873  ?  " 
"  I  am,  sir,  yes." 

"  Does  that  book  express  with  tolerable  accuracy 
your  views  on  the  subject  of  insanity  ?  " 
"  It  does — certainly." 

"  Very  well.  Now,  doctor,  I  will  read  aloud 
from  Chapter  III.,  page  75.  Be  good  enough  to 
follow.—*  It  is  then  a  fact  that  there  exists  a  bor 
derland  between  pronounced  dementia,  or  mania, 
and  sound  mental  health,  in  which  it  is  impossible 
to  apply  the  terms,  sane  and  insane,  with  any  ap 
proach  to  scientific  nicety.  Nor  is  it  to  be  disputed 
that  a  person  may  hav.e  entered  this  borderland- 
may  have  departed  from  the  realm  of  unimpaired 
intelligence,  and  not  yet  have  attained  the  pande 
monium  of  complete  madness— and  withal,  retain 
the  faculty  of  distinguishing  between  right  and 
wrong,  together  with  the  control  of  will  necessary 
to  the  selection  and  employment  of  either.  This 
borderland  is  a  sort  of  twilight  region  in  which, 


STATISTICAL.  63 

though  blurred  in  outline,  objects  have  not  become 
invisible.  Crimes  committed  by  subjects  in  the 
state  thus  described,  can  not  philosophically  be  ex 
tenuated  on  the  ground  of  mental  aberration.' — I 
suppose,  doctor,  you  acknowledge  the  authorship 
of  this  passage  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  subscribe  to  its  correctness  ?  " 

"  It  expresses  the  opinion  which  prevails  among 
the  authorities." 

"  Well  and  good.  Now,  to  return  to  the  case  at 
bar,  are  you  willing  to  swear  that  on  the  night  of 
July  3oth,  the  *  disturbance  of  cerebral  function  ' 
which,  you  have  told  us,  Mrs.  Peixada  was  perhaps 
suffering  from — are  you  willing  to  swear  that  it 
had  progressed  beyond  this  borderland  which  you 
have  so  clearly  elucidated  in  your  book  ? " 

"  I  am  not  willing  to  swear  positively.  It  is  my 
opinion  that  it  had." 

"  You  are  not  willing  to  swear  positively.  Then, 
you  are  not  willing  to  swear  positively,  I  take  it, 
that  Mrs.  Peixada's  crime  did  not  belong  to 
that  category  which  '  can  not  philosophically  be 
extenuated  on  the  ground  of  mental  aberra 
tion  ?'  " 

"  Not  positively — no,  sir." 

"  It  is  your  opinion  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  opinion." 

"  How  firm  ?  " 

"  Very  firm." 

"  So  firm,  doctor,  that  if  you  were  on  this  jury, 


64  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

you  would  feel  bound,  under  any  and  all  circum 
stances,  to  acquit  the  prisoner  ?  " 

"  So  firm  that  I  should  feel  bound  to  acquit  her, 
unless  evidence  of  a  highly  damaging  character 
was  forthcoming." 

"  Well,  suppose  that  evidence  of  a  highly  damag 
ing  character  was  forthcoming,  would  you  convict  ?" 

"  I  might." 

"  Thanks,  doctor.     You  can  go." 

Having  thus  sought  to  prove  the  prisoner's 
irresponsibility,  the  defense  endeavored  to  estab 
lish  her  fair  name.  Half-a-dozen  ladies  and  two 
or  three  gentleman  attested  that  they  had  known 
her  for  many  years,  and  had  always  found  her  to 
be  of  a  peculiarly  sweet  and  gentle  temperament. 
Not  one  of  them  would  believe  her  capable  of  an 
act  of  violence,  unless,  at  the  time  of  committing 
it,  she  was  out  of  her  right  mind.  As  the  last  of 
these  persons  left  the  stand,  Mr.  Sondheim  said, 
"  Your  honor,  our  case  is  in." 

"  And  a  pretty  lame  case  it  is,"  commented  the 
district-attorney.  "  I  beg  leave  to  remind  the 
court  that  it  is  Friday,  and  to  move  for  an  adjourn 
ment  until  Monday,  in  order  that  the  People  may 
have  an  opportunity  to  produce  witnesses  in  re 
buttal."  The  motion  was  granted. 

On  Monday  a  second  alienist,  one  whose  renown 
quite  equaled  that  of  the  first,  declared  it  as  his 
opinion,  based  upon  a  personal  examination  of  the 
accused,  that  she  was  not  and  never  had  been  in 
the  slightest  degree  insane. 


STA  TISTICAL.  65 

"  Is  Dr.  Julius  Gunther  in  court  ?  "  called  out 
the  district-attorney. 

Dr.  Gunther  elbowed  his  way  to  the  front,  and 
was  sworn. 

"Dr.  Gunther,"  the  prosecutor  inquired,  "you 
are  a  physician  in  general  practice — yes  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am." 

"  You  were  also,  I  believe,  up  to  the  time  of  his 
death,  physician  to  the  family  of  Mr.  Bernard 
Peixada  ? " 

The  doctor  nodded  affirmatively. 

"  Did  you  ever  attend  the  decedent's  wife — Mrs. 
Peixada — this  woman  here — the  prisoner  at  the 
bar?" 

"  On  the  2oth  of  July  last  I  began  to  treat  her 
for  a  sprained  ankle.  I  called  on  her  every  day 
or  two,  up  to  the  3oth." 

"  You  were  treating  her  for  a  sprained  ankle. 
Did  you  make  any  observation  of  her  general 
health  ? " 

"  Naturally." 

"  And  you  found  it  ?  " 

"Excellent." 

"  How  about  her  mental  faculties  ?  Any  symp 
toms  of  derangement  ? " 

"  Not  one.  I  have  seldom  known  a  smarter 
woman.  She  had  an  exceptionally  well-balanced 
mind." 

"  That'll  do,  doctor,"  said  the  district-attorney. 
To  the  other  side,  "  Want  to  cross-examine  ?  " 

"  Is  a  well-balanced  mind,  doctor,"  asked    Mr. 


66  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Sondheim,  "  proof  positive  of  sanity  ?  Is  it  not 
possible  for  one  to  be  perfectly  rational  on  ordi 
nary  topics,  and  yet  liable  to  attacks  of  mania 
when  irritated  by  some  special  circumstances  ?  " 

"  Oh,  speaking  broadly,  I  suppose  so.  But  in 
this  particular  instance,  no.  That  woman  is  no 
more  crazy  than  you  are." 

"Now,"  said  the  prosecutor,  "now,  as  to  my 
lady's  alleged  good  character?" 

A  score  of  witnesses  proceeded  to  demolish  it. 
Miss  Emily  Millard  had  acted  as  music  teacher  to 
the  prisoner  when  she  was  a  little  girl.  Miss  Millard 
related  a  dozen  anecdotes  illustrative  of  the  prison 
er's  ungovernable  temper.  Misses  Sophie  Dedold, 
Florentine  Worch,  and  Esther  Steinbaum  had  gone 
to  school  with  the  prisoner.  If  their  accounts  were 
to  be  believed,  she  was  a  «  flirt,"  and  a  "double- 
face."  At  length,  Mrs.  George  Washington  Shapiro 
took  the  stand. 

"  Mrs.   Shapiro,  were  you  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Bernard  Peixada,  the  decedent?" 

«  Well  acquainted  with  him— an  old  friend  of  his 

family." 

"  And  with  his  wife,  the  prisoner  ?" 

«  I  made  her  acquaintance  shortly  before  Mr. 

Peixada  married  her.     After  that   I   saw   her  as 

often  as  once  a  week." 

« Will  you  please  give  us  your  estimate  of 

character?" 

"  Bad,  very  bad.     She  is  false,  she  is  treacherous, 
but  above  all,  she  is  spiteful  and  ill-humored." 


STATISTICAL.  6^ 

"  For  example  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  could  give  twenty  examples." 

"  Give  one,  please." 

"  Well,  one  day  I  called  upon  her  and  found  her 
in  tears.  '  My  dear,'  said  I,  '  what  are  you  crying 
about  ? '  *  Oh,'  she  answered,  '  I  wish  Bernard 
Peixada ' — she  always  spoke  of  her  husband  as  Ber 
nard  Peixada — <  I  wish  Bernard  Peixada  was  dead.' 
'  What  ! '  I  remonstrated.  '  You  wish  your  husband 
was  dead  ?  You  ought  not  to  say  such  a  thing. 
What  can  you  mean  ? '  *  I  mean  that  I  hate  him,' 
she  replied.  '  But  if  you  hate  him,'  said  I,  '  if  you 
are  unhappy  with  him,  why  don't  you  wish  that  you 
yourself  were.dead,  instead  of  wishing  it  of  him?' 
(  Oh,'  she  explained,  *  I  am  young.  I  have  much 
to  live  for.  He  is  an  old,  bad  man.  It  would  be 
a  good  thing  all  around,  if  he  were  dead.'  " 

"  Can  you  give  us  the  date  of  this  extraordinary 
conversation  ? " 

"  It  was  some  time,  I  think,  in  last  June  ;  a  little 
more  than  a, month  before  she  murdered  him." 

The  efforts  of  the  prisoner's  counsel  to  break 
down  Mrs.  Shapiro's  testimony  were  unavailing. 

"  Mr.  Short,"  says  the  Gazette,  "  now  summed 
up  in  his  most  effective  style,  dwelling  at  length 
upon  the  prisoner's  youth  and  previous  good  char 
acter,  and  arguing  that  she  could  never  have  com 
mitted  the  crime  in  question,  except  under  the  sway 
of  an  uncontrollable  impulse  induced  by  mental 
disease.  He  wept  copiously,  and  succeeded  in 
bringing  tears  to  the  eyes  of  several  jurymen.  He 


68  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

was  followed  by  Assistant-district-attorney  Sardick, 
for  the  People,  who  carefully  analyzed  the  evidence, 
and  showed  that  it  placed  the  guilt  of  the  accused 
beyond  the  reach  of  a  reasonable  doubt.  Recorder 
Hewitt  charged  dead  against  the  fair  defendant, 
consuming  an  hour  and  a  quarter.  The  jury  there 
upon  retired  ;  but  at  the  expiration  of  seventeen 
minutes  they  returned  to  the  court-room,  and,  much 
to  the  surprise  of  every  one  present,  announced 
that  they  had  agreed  upon  a  verdict.  The  prisoner 
was  directed  to  stand  up.  She  was  deathly  pale  ; 
her  teeth  chattered  ;  her  hands  clutched  at  the  rail 
ing  in  front  of  the  clerk's  desk.  The  formal  ques 
tions  were  put  in  their  due  order  and  with  becoming 
solemnity.  A  profound  sensation  was  created 
among  the  spectators  when  the  foreman  pronounced 
the  two  decisive  words,  *  Not  guilty.'  A  vivid 
crimson  suffused  the  prisoner's  throat  and  cheeks, 
but  otherwise  her  appearance  did  not  alter.  Re 
corder  Hewitt  seemed  for  a  moment  to  discredit 
his  senses.  Then,  suddenly  straightening  up  and 
scowling  at  the  jury-box,  '  You  have  rendered 
an  outrageous  verdict  ;  a  verdict  grossly  at  vari 
ance  with  the  evidence,'  he  said.  '  You  are  one 
and  all  excused  from  further  service  in  this  tribunal.' 
Turning  to  Mrs.  Peixada,  '  As  for  you,  madam,'  he 
continued,  'you  have  been  unrighteously  acquitted 
of  as  heinous  a  crime  as  ever  woman  was  guilty  of. 
Your  defense  was  a  sham  and  a  perjury.  The  ends 
of  justice  have  been  defeated,  because,  forsooth, 
you  have  a  pretty  face.  You  can  go  free.  But  let 


STATISTICAL.  69 

me  counsel  you  to  beware,  in  the  future,  how  you 
tamper  with  the  lives  of  human  beings,  better  and 
worthier  in  every  respect  than  yourself.  I  had 
hoped  that  it  would  be  my  duty  and  my  privilege 
to  sentence  you  to  a  life  of  hard  labor  in  the  prison 
at  Sing  Sing,  if  not  to  expiation  of  your  sin  upon 
the  gallows.  Unfortunately  for  the  public  welfare, 
and  much  to  my  personal  regret,  I  have  no  alterna 
tive  but  to  commit  you  to  the  keeping  of  your  own 
guilty  conscience,  trusting  that  in  time  you  may, 
by  its  action,  and  by  the  just  horror  with  which 
your  fellow-beings  will  shun  your  touch,  be  chas 
tised  and  chastened.  You  are  discharged.'  Mrs. 
Peixada  bowed  to  the  court,  and  left  the  room  on 
the  arm  of  her  counsel." 

Undramatic  and  matter-of-fact  though  it  was, 
Arthur  got  deeply  absorbed  in  the  perusal  of  this 
newspaper  report  of  Mrs.  Peixada's  trial.  When 
the  jury  returned  from  their  deliberations,  it  was 
with  breathless  interest  that  he  learned  the  result ; 
he  had  forgotten  that  he  already  knew  it.  As  the 
words  "  Not  guilty  "  took  shape  before  him,  he  drew 
a  genuine  sigh  of  relief.  Then,  at  once  recollect 
ing  himself,  "  Bah  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  was  actually 
rejoicing  at  a  miscarriage  of  justice.  I  am  weak- 
minded."  By  and  by  he  added,  "  I  wish,  though, 
that  I  could  get  at  the  true  inwardness  of  the  mat 
ter — the  secret  motives  that  nobody  but  the  mur 
deress  herself  could  reveal."  For  the  sake  of  local 
color,  he  put  on  his  haUand  went  over  to  the  Gen- 


70  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

eral  Sessions  court-room — now  empty  and  in  charge 
of  a  single  melancholy  officer — and  tried  to  recon 
struct  the  scene,  with  the  aid  of  his  imagination. 
The  recorder  had  sat  there,  on  the  bench  ;  the 
jury  there  ;  the  prisoner  there,  at  the  counsel  table. 
The  atmosphere  of  the  court-room  was  depressing. 
The  four  walls,  that  had  listened  to  so  many  tales 
of  sin  and  unhappiness,  seemed  to  exude  a  deadly 
miasma.  This  room  was  reserved  for  the  trial  of 
criminal  causes.  How  many  hearts  had  here  stood 
still  for  suspense  !  How  many  wretched  secrets 
had  here  been  uncovered  !  How  many  mothers 
and  wives  had  wept  here  !  How  many  guilt-bur 
dened  souls  had  here  seen  their  last  ray  of  light  go 
out,  and  the  shadows  of  the  prison  settle  over  them  ! 
The  very  tick-tack  of  the  clock  opposite  the  door 
sounded  strangely  ominous.  Looking  around  him, 
Arthur  felt  his  own  heart  grow  cold,  as  if  it  had 
been  touched  with  ice. 


CHAPTER     IV. 

"  THAT    NOT    IMPOSSIBLE    SHE." 

AT  home  that  evening,  on  the  loggia,  Hetzel  said, 
"  I  have  news  for  you." 
•"  Ah  ?  "  queried  Arthur. 

«  Yes — about  your  mystery  across  the  way." 

"Well  ?" 

"  She's  no  longer  a  mystery.  The  ambiguity 
surrounding  her  has  been  dispelled." 

"Well,  goon." 

"  To .  start  with,  after  you  went  down-town  this 
morning,  carts  laden  with  furniture  began  to  rattle 
into  the  street,  and  the  furniture  was  carried  into 
No.  46.  It  appears  that  they  have  taken  the  whole 
house,  after  all.  They  were  merely  camping  out 
in  the  third  story,  while  waiting  for  the  advent  of 
their  goods  and  chattels.  So  we  were  jumping  to 
a  conclusion,  when  we  put  them  down  as  poverty- 
stricken.  The  furniture  was  quite  comfortable 
looking.  It  included,  by  the  way,  a  second  piano. 
Confess  that  you  are  disappointed." 

"  Why  should  I  be  disappointed  ?  The  divine 
voice  remains,  doesn't  it?  Go  ahead." 

"  Well,  I  have  learned  their  names. — The  lady  of 


72  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

the  house  is  an  elderly  widow — Mrs.  Gabrielle 
Hart.  She  has  been  living  till  recently  in  an 
apartment-house  on  Fifty-ninth  Street,  facing 
Central  Park — <  The  Modena  '." 

"  But  the  songstress  ?  " 

"  The  songstress  is  Mrs.  Hart's  companion. 
She  is  also  a  Mrs. — Mrs.  Lehmyl — L-e-h-m-y-l — 
picturesque  name,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  And  Mr.   Lehmyl — who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  Mrs.  Lehmyl  is  a  widow,  too.  She 
dresses  in  black." 

"Ah,   you  have  seen  her?  Describe  her  to  me." 

"  No,  I  haven't  seen  her.  But  Josephine  has, 
It  is  to  Josephine  that  I  owe  the  information  so 
far  communicated." 

"  What  does  Josephine  say  she  looks  like  ?  " 

"  Josephine  doesn't  say.  She  caught  but  a 
meteoric  glimpse  of  her,  as  she  stood  for  a  moment 
this  afternoon  at  her  front  door.  Like  the  woman 
she  is,  she  paid  more  attention  to  her  costume  than 
she  did  to  her  features." 

"  Well,  any  thing  further  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Has  she  sung  for  you  since  I  left  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bar.  Probably  she  has  been  busy, 
helping  to  put  the  house  to  rights." 

"  Let  us  hope  she  will  sing  for  us  to-night." 

"  Let  us  hope  so." 

But  bed-time  stole  upon  them,  and  their  hopes 
had  not  yet  been  rewarded. 

The  week  wound  away.     Nothing  new  transpired 


' '  THA  T  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE  SHE. "  73 

concerning  the  occupants  of  No.  46.  Mrs.  Lehmyl 
sang  almost  every  evening.  But  neither  Arthur 
nor  Hetzel  nor  Josephine  succeeded  in  getting 
sight  of  her  ;  which,  of  course,  merely  aggravated 
our  hero's  curiosity.  Sunday  afternoon  he  stood  at 
the  front  window,  gazing  toward  the  corner  house. 
The  two  cats,  heretofore  mentioned,  were  disport 
ing  themselves  upon  the  window-ledge. 

Hetzel,  who  was  seated  in  the  back  part  of  the 
room,  noticed  that  Arthur's  attitude  changed  all  at 
once  from  that  of  languid  interest  to  that  of  sharp 
attention.  His  backbone  became  rigid,  his  neck 
craned  forward  ;  it  was  evident  that  something 
had  happened.  Presently  he  turned  around,  and 
remarked,  with  ill-disguised  excitement,  "  If — if 
you're  anxious  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  that 
Mrs.  Lehmyl,  here's  your  chance." 

It  struck  Hetzel  that  this  was  pretty  good.  "  If 
/  am  anxious  to  make  her  acquaintance  !  "  he 
said  to  himself.  Aloud,  "  Why,  how  is  that  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"Oh,"  said  Arthur,  "two  ladies — she  and  Mrs. 
Hart,  I  suppose — have  just  left  the  corner  house, 
and  crossed  the  street,  and  entered  our  front  door 
— to  call  on  Mrs.  Berle,  doubtless." 

Mrs.  Berle  was  the  down-stairs  neighbor  of  our 
friends — a  middle-aged  Jewish  lady,  whose  hus 
band,  a  commercial  traveler,  was  commonly  away 
from  home. 

"  Well  ?  "  questioned  Hetzel. 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  call  on  Mrs.  Berle,  anyway, 


74  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

you  know,  She  has  been  so  polite  and  kind,  and 
has  asked  you  to  so  often,  that  really  it's  no  more 
than  right  that  you  should  show  her  some  little 
attention.  Why  not  improve  this  occasion  ? " 

"  Oh,"  said  Hetzel,  yawning,  "  I'm  tired.  I 
prefer  to  stay  home  this  afternoon." 

"  Nonsense.  You're  simply  lazy.  It's — it's 
positively  a  matter  of  duty,  Hetz." 

"  Well,  you  have  so  frequently  asserted  that  I 
have  no  sense  of  duty,  I'm  trying  to  live  up  to 
your  conception  of  me." 

After  a  minute  of  silence,  "  The  fact  of  the 
matter  is,"  ventured  Arthur,  "  that  I  too  owe  Mrs. 
Berle  a  visit,  and — and  won't  you  go  down  with 
me,  as  a  favor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  you  put  it  on  that  ground,  it's  another 
question.  As  a  favor  to  you,  I  consent  to  be 
dragged  out." 

"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  Arthur,  casting  off  the  mask 
of  indifference  that  he  had  thus  far  clumsily  worn. 
"  I'll  go  change  my  coat,  and  come  back  in  an 
instant.  Wasn't  I  lucky  to  be  posted  there  by  the 
window  at  the  moment  of  their  exit  ?  At  last  we 
shall  see  her  with  our  own  eyes." 

Ere  a  great  while,  Mrs.  Berle's  maid-servant 
ushered  them  into  Mrs.  Berle's  drawing-room. 

Mrs.  Lehmyl  was  at  the  piano— playing,  not  sing 
ing.  Arthur  enjoyed  a  fine  view  of  her  back.  My 
meaning  is  literal,  when  I  say  "  enjoyed."  Impa 
tient  though  he  was  to  see  her  face,  he  took  an 
indescribable  pleasure  in  watching  her  back  sway  to 


"  THA  T  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE  SHE"  75 

and  fro,  as  her  fingers  raced  up  and  down  the  key 
board.  Its  contour  was  refined  and  symmetrical. 
Its  undulations  lent  stress  to  the  music,  and 
denoted  fervor  on  the  part  of  the  executant. 
Arthur  can't  tell  what  she  was  playing.  It  was 
something  of  Rubenstein's,  the  title  of  which 
escapes  him — something,  he  says,  as  vigorous  as  a 
whirlwind — a  bewitching  melody  sounding  above  a 
tempest  of  harmony — it  was  the  restless,  tumultu 
ous,  barbaric  Rubenstein  at  his  best. 

At  its  termination,  the  audience  applauded  vehe 
mently,  and  demanded  more.  The  result  was  a 
Scherzo  by  Chopin.  Afterward,  Mrs.  Lehmyl  rose 
from  the  piano  and  fanned  herself.  Every  body 
began  simultaneously  to  talk. 

Mrs.  Berle  presented  Hetzel  and  Arthur  in  turn 
to  the  two  ladies.  Of  the  latter  she  was  kind  enough 
to  remark, "  Dot  is  a  young  lawyer  down-town,  and 
such  a  goot  young  man  " — which  made  him  blush 
profusely  and  wish  his  hostess  a  dozen  apoplex 
ies. 

Mrs.  Hart  was  tall  and  spare,  a  severe  looking 
woman  of  sixty,  or  thereabouts.  She  wore  a  gray 
poplin  dress,  and  had  stiff  gray  hair,  and  a  network 
of  gray  veins  across  the  backs  of  her  hands.  A 
penumbra  upon  her  upper  lip  proved,  when 
inspected,  to  be  due  to  the  presence  of  an  incipi 
ent  mustache.  Her  eyes  were  blue  and  good- 
natured. 

Mrs.  Lehmyl's  manner  was  at  once  dignified  and 
gracious.  Arthur  made  bold  to  declare,  "  Your 


76  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

playing  is  equal  to  your  singing,  Mrs.  Lehmyl — 
which  is  saying  a  vast  deal." 

"  It  is  saying  what  is  kind  and  pleasant,"  she 
answered,  "  but  I  fear,  not  strictly  accurate.  My 
playing  is  very  faulty,  I  have  so  little  time  to  prac 
tice." 

"  If  it  is  faulty,  a  premium  ought  to  be  placed 
upon  sucti  faults,"  he  gushed. 

Mrs.  Lehmyl  laughed,  but  vouchsafed  no  reply. 
"  And  as  for  your  singing,"  he  continued,  "  I 
hope  you  won't  mind  my  telling  you  how  much  I 
have  enjoyed  it.  You  can't  conceive  the  pleasure 
it  has  given  me,  when  I  have  come  home,  fagged 
out,  from  a  day  down-town,  to  hear  you  sing." 

"  I  am  very  glad  if  it  is  so.  I  was  afraid  my 
musical  pursuits  might  be  a  nuisance  to  the 
neighbors.  I  take  for  granted  that  you  are  a  neigh 
bor  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Hetzel  and  I  inhabit  the  upper  por 
tion  of  this  house." 

r  "  Ah,  then  you  are  the  young  men  whom  we  have 
\  noticed  on  the  roof.  It  is  a  brilliant  idea,  your  roof. 
j  You  dine  up  there,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  Let's  go  into  the  back  room,"  cried  Mrs. 
Berle  ;  and  she  led  the  way. 

In  the  back  room  wine  and  cakes  were  distrib 
uted  by  a  German  Mddchen  in  a  French  cap.  The 
gentlemen — there  were  two  or  three  present  besides 
Arthur  and  Hetzel  — lit  their  cigars.  The  ladies,  of 
whom  there  were  an  equal  number,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  Mrs.  Lehmyl,  gathered  in  a  knot  around  the 


"  THA  T  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE  SHE."  77 

center-table.  Mrs.  Lehmyl  went  to  the  bay-window 
and  admired  the  view.  It  was,  indeed,  admirable. 
A  crystalline  atmosphere  permitted  one  to  see  as 
far  down  the  river  as  the  Brooklyn  Navy  Yard  ;  and 
leagues  to  the  eastward,  on  Long  Island,  the  marble 
of  I  know  not  what  burying-ground  glittered  in  the 
sun.  An  occasional  schooner  slipped  past  almost 
within  stone's  throw.  On  the  wharf  under  the  ter 
race,  fifty  odd  yards  away,  an  aged  man  placidly 
supported  a  fishing  pole,  and  watched  a  cork  that 
floated  immobile  upon  the  surface  of  the  water. 
Over  all  bent  the  sky,  intensely  blue,  and  softened 
by  a  few  white,  fleecy  clouds.  But  Arthur's 
faculties  for  admiration  were  engrossed  by  Mrs. 
Lehmyl's  face. . 

I  think  the  first  impression  created  by  her  face 
was  one  of  power,  rather  than  one  of  beauty.  Not 
that  it  was  in  the  slightest  degree  masculine,  not  that 
it  was  too  strong  to  be  intensely  womanly.  But  at 
first  sight,  especially  if  it  chanced  then  to  be  in 
repose,  it  seemed  to  embody  the  pride  and  the  sol 
emnity  of  womanhood,  rather  than  its  gentleness 
and  flexibility.  It  was  the  face  of  a  woman  who 
could  purpose  and  perform,  who  could  suffer 
and  be  silent,  who  could  command  and  be 
inexorable.  The  brow,  crowned  by  black,  waving 
hair,  was  low  and  broad,  and  as  white  as  mar 
ble.  The  nose  and  chin  were  modeled  on  the 
pattern  of  the  Ludovici  Juno's.  Your  first  notion 
was  :  "  This  woman  is  calm,  reserved,  thought 
ful,  persistent.  Her  emotions  are  subordinated 


78  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

to  her  intellect.  She  has  a  tremendous  will. 
She  was  cut  out  to  be  an  empress."  But  the  next 
instant  you  noticed  her  eyes  and  her  mouth  :  and 
your  conception  had  accordingly  to  be  reframed. 
Her  eyes,  in  color  dark,  translucent  brown,  were  of 
the  sort  that  your  gaze  can  delve  deep  into,  and 
discern  a  light  shimmering  at  the  bottom  :  eyes  that 
send  an  electric  spark  into  the  heart  of  the  man 
who  looks  upon  them  ;  eyes  that  are  eloquent  of 
pathos  and  passion  and  mystery.  Her  lips  were 
full  and  ruddy,  and  indicated  equal  capacities  for 
womanly  tenderness  and  for  girlish  mirth.  It  was 
easy  to  fancy  them  curling  in  derisive  laughter  :  it 
was  quite  as  easy  to  fancy  them  quivering  with 
intense  emotion,  or  becoming  compressed  in  pain. 
Insensibly,  you  added  :  "  No— not  an  empress  :  a 
heroine,  a  martyr  to  some  noble  human  cause.  It 
was  like  this  that  the  Mother  of  Sorrows  must  have 
looked." 

She  was  beautiful :  on  that  score  there  could  be 
no  difference  of  opinion.  Her  appearance  justified 
the  expectations  that  her  voice  aroused.  She 
was  beautiful  not  in  a  pronounced,  aggressive 
way,  but  in  a  quiet,  subtle,  and  all  the  more  potent 
way.  Her  beauty  was  of  the  sort  that  grows  upon 
one,  the  longer  one  studies  it ;  rather  than  of  the 
sort  that,  bullet-like,  produces  its  greatest  effect  at 
once.  Join  to  this  that  she  was  manifestly  young, 
at  the  utmost  nve-and-twenty,  and  the  reader  will 
not  wonder  that  Arthur's  antecedent  interest  in  her 
had  mounted  several  degrees.  I  must  not  forget 


"  THA  T  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE  SHE."  79 

to  mention  her  hands.  These  were  a  trifle  larger 
than  it  is  the  fashion  for  a  lady's  hands  to  be  ;  but 
they  were  shaped  and  colored  to  perfection,  and 
they  had  an  unconscious  habit  of  toying  with  each 
other,  as  their  owner  talked  or  listened,  that  made 
it  a  charm  to  watch  them.  They  were  suggestive 
hands.  Arthur  felt  that,  had  he  understood  the 
language  of  hands,  he  could,  by  observing  these, 
have  divined  a  number  of  Mrs.  Lehmyl's  secrets  ; 
and  he  bethought  him  of  an  old  treatise  on  palmistry 
that  lay  gathering  dust  in  his  book-case  up-stairs. 
Around  her  wrist  she  wore  a  bracelet  of  amber 
beads.  She  was  dressed  entirely  in  black,  and  had 
a  sprig  of  mignonette  pinned  in  her  button-hole. 

As  has  been  said,  she  admired  the  view.  "  I  am 
so  glad  we  have  come  to  live  in  Beekman  Place," 
she  added  ;  "  it  is  such  a  contrast  to  the  rest  of 
dusty,  noisy,  hot  New  York." 

"  To  hear  this  woman  utter  small  talk,"  says 
Arthur,  "  was  like  seeing  a  giant  lift  straws.  I  half 
wished  that  she  would  not  speak  at  all,  unless  to 
proclaim  mighty  truths  in  hexameters.  Still,  had 
she  kept  silence,  I  am  sure  I  should  have  been  dis 
appointed." 

She  was  much  amused  by  the  old  fisherman  down 
on  the  wharf  ;  wondered  whether  he  had  met  with 
any  luck  ;  and  thought  that  such  patient  devotion 
as  he  displayed,  merited  recognition  on  the  part  of 
the  fishes.  She  was  curious  to  know  what  the 
granite  buildings  were  on  Blackwell's  Island. 
Arthur  undertook  the  office  of  cicerone. 


8o  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  Prison  and  hospital  and  graveyard  constantly  in 
sight,"  was  her  comment  ;  "  I  should  think  they 
would  make  one  gloomy." 

"  A  memento  mori,-  as  one's  eyes  feast  on  sky  and 
water.  On  moonlight  nights  in  summer,  it  is 
superb  here — quite  Venetian.  Every  now  and  then 
some  dark,  mysterious  craft,  slowly  drifting  by, 
reminds  one  of  Elaine's  barge." 

"  It  must  be  very  beautiful,"  she  said,  simply. 

At  this  juncture  an  excursion  steamboat  made  its 
appearance  upon  the  river,  and  conversation  was 
suspended  till  it  had  passed.  It  was  gay  with  bunt 
ing  and  black  with  humanity.  It  strove  its  best  to 
render  day  hideous  by  dispensing  a  staccato  version 
of  "  Home,  Sweet  Home  "  from  the  blatant  throat  of 
a  Calliope — an  instrument  consisting  of  a  series  of 
steam  whistles  graduated  in  chromatic  scale. 

"  How  uncomfortable  those  poor  people  must  be," 
said  Mrs.  Lehmyl.  "  Is — is  this  one  of  the  dark, 
mysterious  craft  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  product  of  our  glorious  American  civil 
ization.  None  but  an  alchemist  with  true  American 
instincts,  would  ever  have  thought  of  transmuting 
steam  to  music." 

"  Music  ?  "  queried  Mrs.  Lehmyl,  dubiously. 

Arthur  was  about  to  qualify  his  use  of  the  term 
when  the  door  opened  and  admitted  a  procession  of 
Mrs.  Berle's  daughters  and  sons-in-law.  An  uproar 
of  greetings  and  presentations  followed.  The  men 
exchanged  remarks  about  the  weather  and  the  state 
of  trade  ;  the  women,  kisses  and  inquiries  concern- 


"  THAT  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE  SHE."  81 

ing  health.  Bits  of  news  were  circulated.  "  Lester 
Bar  is  engaged  to  Emma  Frankenstiel,"  "  Mrs. 
Seitel's  baby  was  born  yesterday — another  girl," 
"  Du  lieber  Gott !  "  "  Isfs  moglich  ?  "  and  so  on  ;  a 
breezy  mingling  of  German  with  English,  of  state 
ment  with  expletive  ;  the  whole  emphasized  by  an 
endless  swaying  of  heads  and  lifting  of  eyebrows. 
The  wine  and  cakes  made  a  second  tour  of  the  room. 
Fresh  cigars  were  lighted.  The  ladies  fell  to  com 
paring  notes  about  their  respective  offspring.  One 
of  the  gentlemen  volunteered  a  circumstantial 
account  of  a  Wagner  concert  he  had  attended  the 
night  previous.  It  was  a  long  while  before  any 
thing  resembling  quiet  was  restored.  Arthur 
seized  the  first  opportunity  that  presented  itself  to 
edge  back  to  Mrs.  Lehmyl's  side. 

"  All  this  talk  about  music,"  he  said,  "  has  whet 
ted  my  appetite.  You  are  going  to  sing  for  us, 
aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  dare  to,  in  this  assemblage  of 
Wagnerites.  The  sort  of  music  that  I  can  sing 
would  seem  heresy  from  their  point  of  view.  I 
can't  sing  Wagner,  and  I  shouldn't  venture  upon 
any  thing  so  retrograde  as  Schumann  or  Schubert. 
Besides,  I'm  rather  tired  to-day,  and — so  please 
don't  introduce  the  subject.  Mrs.  Berle  might  fol 
low  it  up  ;  and  if  she  asked  me,  I  couldn't  very 
well  refuse." 

Mrs.  Lehmyl's  tone  showed  that  she  meant  what 
she  said. 

"  This  is  a  great  disappointment,"  Arthur  rejoined. 


82  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  You  don't  know  how  anxious  I  am  to  hear 
you  sing  at  close  quarters.  But  as  for  your  music 
being  retrograde,  why,  only  the  other  night  I  was 
admiring  your  fine  taste  in  making  selections. 
Wohin,  for  instance.  Isn't  Wohin  abreast  of  the 
times  ?  " 

"  The  Wagnerites  wouldn't  think  so.  It  is  mel 
ody.  Therefore  it  is — good  enough  for  the  unin 
itiated,  perhaps — but  not  to  be  put  up  with  by  peo 
ple  of  serious  musical  cultivation.  The  only  passages 
in  Wagner's  own  work  that  his  disciples  take  excep 
tion  to,  are  those  where,  in  a  fit  of  artistic  obliquity, 
he  has  become  truly  melodious.  Here,  they  think, 
he  has  been  guilty  of  backsliding.  His  melodies 
were  the  short-comings  of  genius — pardonable,  in 
consideration  of  their  infrequency,  but  in  no  wise 
to  be  commended.  The  further  he  gets  away  from 
the  old  standards  of  excellence — the  more  perplex 
ing,  complicated,  artificial,  soporific,  he  becomes — 
the  better  are  his  enthusiasts  pleased.  The  other 
day  1  was  talking-  with  one  of  them,  and  in  the 
desire  to  say  something  pleasant,  I  spoke  of  how 
supremely  beautiful  the  Pilgrim's  Chorus  is  in 
Tannhauser.  A  look  of  sadness  fell  upon  my 
friend's  face,  and  I  saw  that  I  had  blundered.  '  Ah,' 
she  cried,  '  don't  speak  of  that.  It  makes  my  heart 
ache  to  think  that  the  master  could  have  let  him 
self  down  to  any  thing  so  trivial.'  That's  their  pet 
W0rd — trivial.  Whenever  a  theme  is  comprehensi 
ble,  they  dispose  of  it  as  trivial." 

Arthur   laughed  and  said,  "  It  is  evident  to  what 


"  THA  T  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE  SHE"  83 

school  you  belong.  For  my  part,  I  always  sus 
pect  that  when  a  composer  disdains  to  write  melo 
dies,  it  is  a  case  of  sour  grapes." 

"  Yes,  he  lacks  the  inventive  faculty,  and  then 
affects  to  despise  it,"  said  Mrs.  Lehmyl.  "  My 
taste  is  very  old-fashioned.  Of  course  every  body 
must  recognize  Wagner's  greatness,  and  must 
appreciate  him  in  his  best  moods.  But  when  he 
cuts  loose  from  all  the  established  laws  of  composi 
tion — well,  I  heard  my  sentiments  neatly  expressed 
once  by  Signer  Zacchinelli,  the  maestro.  '  It  is  ze 
music  of  ze  future  ? '  he  inquired.  '  Zen  I  am  glad 
I  shall  be  dead.'  Smiting  his  breast  he  went  on,  '  I 
want  somezing  to  make  me  feel  good  here'  That's 
the  trouble.  Except  when  Wagner  abides  by  the 
old  traditions,  he  never  makes  one  feel  good  here. 
The  pleasure  he  affords  is  intellectual  rather  than 
emotional.  He  amazes  you  by  the  intricate  har 
monies  he  constructs,  but  he  doesn't  touch  your 
heart.  Now  and  then  he  forgets  himself — is  borne 
away  from  his  theories  on  the  wings  of  an  inspira 
tion — and  then  he  is  superb." 

"  I  wonder,"  Arthur  asked,  by  and  by,  "  whether 
you  can  tell  me  what  it  was  that  you  sang  the  even 
ing  I  first  heard  you.  It  was  more  than  a  week  ago 
— a  week  ago  Friday.  At  about  sunset  time,  we 
were  out  on  our  roof,  and  you  sang  something  that  I 
had  never  heard  before, — something  soft  and  plain 
tive,  with  a  refrain  that  went  like  this "  hum 
ming  a  bar  or  two  of  the  refrain. 

"  Oh,  that  ?     Did  you  like  that  ?  " 


84  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  I  did,  indeed.     I  thought  it  was  exquisite." 

"  I  am  glad,  because  it  is  a  favorite  of  my  own. 
It's  an  old  French  folk-song,  arranged  by  Bizet. 
The  title  isZ<?  Voile  (Tune  Religieuse" 

"  I  wish  I  could  hear  it  again.  I  can't  tell  you 
how  charming  it  was  to  sit  there  in  the  open  air, 
and  watch  the  sunset,  and  listen  to  that  song.  Only, 
it  was  so  exasperating  not  to  be  able  to  see  the 
songstress.  Won't  you  be  persuaded  to  sing  it 
now  1  I'm  sure  you  are  not  too  tired  to  sing  that." 

"  What  1  Here  ?  I  should  never  be  absolved. 
The  auditors — I  dare  not  fancy  what  the  effect 
upon  them  might  be.  That  song,  of  all  things  ! 
Why,  it  is  worse  than  Schubert. — But  seriously," 
she  added,  gravely,  "  I  could  not  bear  to  expose 
any  thing  so  dear  to  me  as  my  music  is,  to  the  ridi 
cule  it  would  provoke  from  the  Wagnerites.  It 
hurts  me  keenly  to  hear  a  song  that  I  love,  picked 
to  pieces,  and  made  light  of,  and  tossed  to  the 
winds.  It  hurts  me  just  as  keenly  to  hear  it  praised 
insincerely — merely  for  politeness'  sake.  Music — 
true  music— is  like  prayer.  It  is  too  sacred  to — 
you  know  what  I  mean — to  be  laid  bare  to  the  con 
tempt  of  unbelievers." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  like  prayer.  It  is  the  most  per 
fect  vehicle  of  expression  for  one's  deepest,  most 
solemn  feelings — that  and " 

"  And  poetry." 

"  How  did  you  guess  that  I  was  going  to  say 
poetry  ? " 

"  It  was  obvious.  The  two  go  together." 


"  THA  T  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE  SHE. "  85 

"  So  they  do.  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Lehmyl,  if  I 
were  to  try  my  hand  at  guesswork,  I  think  I  could 
name  your  favorite  poet." 

"Indeed  ;  who  is  he  ?" 

"  Robert  Browning." 

Mrs.  Lehmyl  cast  a  half  surprised,  half  startled 
glance  at  Arthur.  "  Are  you  a  mind-reader  ?  Or 
was  it  simply  a  chance  hit  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Then  I  was  right  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  were  right,  though  I  ought  not  to 
tell  you  so.  You  ought  not  to  know  your  power, 
if  power  it  was,  and  not  mere  random'  guess 
work.  One  with  that  faculty  of  penetrating 
another's  mind  must  be  a  dangerous  associate. 
But  tell  me,  what  hint  did  I  let  fall,  that  made 
you  suspect  I  should  be  fond  of  Browning?  " 

"  If  I  should  answer  that  question,  I  am  afraid 
you  might  deem  me  presumptuous.  I  could  not 
do  so,  without  paying  you  a  compliment." 

"  Then,  leave  it  unanswered,"  she  said,  coldly. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Hart  rose  and  bade  good- 
by  to  Mrs.  Berle  ;  then  called  across  to  Mrs.  Leh 
myl,  "  Come,  Ruth  ;  "  and  the  latter  wished  Arthur  • 
good  afternoon. 

He  and  Hetzel  left  soon  after.  Mrs.  Berle  said,  "  If 
you  young  gentlemen  have  no  other  engagement, 
won't  you  take  tea  here  a  week  from  to-night  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Hetzel  answered  ;  "  and 
we  shall  do  so  with  great  pleasure." 

Upstairs,  "  Well,  how  did  you  like  her  ? " 
inquired  Arthur. 


86  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  Like  whom  ?     Mrs.  Berle  ?  " 

"  No — Mrs.  Lehmyl,  of  course,  stupid." 

"  That's  a  pretty  question  for  you  to  ask  ;  as 
though  you'd  given  me  a  chance  to  find  out.  How 
did  you  like  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  above  the  average." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Then  you  were  disappointed  ? 
She  didn't  come  up  to  your  anticipations  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  that.  Yes,  she's e  a  fine 
woman." 

"  But  her  friend,  Mrs.  Hart,  is  a  trump." 

"  So  ?*  Nobody  would  suspect  it  from  her  looks. 
Her  austere  coloring  inspires  a  certain  kind  of 
awe." 

"  She's  no  longer  young.  But  she's  very  agree 
able,  all  the  same.  We  talked  a  good  deal  together. 
She  asked  me  to  call.  You  weren't  a  bit  clever." 

"  No?" 

"  No,  sir.  If  you  had  been,  you  would  have 
devoted  yourself  to  Mrs.  Hart.  Then  she  would 
have  invited  you  to  call,  too.  So  you  could  have 
cultivated  Mrs.  Lehmyl  at  your  leisure." 

"  But  you  and  I  are  one.  You  can  take  me  to 
call  with  you,  can't  you  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  She  asked  me  to 
drop  in  informally  any  afternoon.  You're  never 
home  in  the  afternoon.  Besides,  you're  old  enough 
to  receive  an  invitation  for  yourself." 

"  Nonsense  !  You  can  arrange  it  easily  enough. 
Ask  permission  to  bring  your  Fidus  Achates." 

"  I'll  see  about  it.     If  you  behave  yourself  for 


"  THAT  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE  SHE"  87 

the  next  week  or  two,  perhaps  I'll  exert  my  influ 
ence.  By  the  way,  how  did  you  like  Mrs.  Lehmyl's 
playing  ? " 

"  She  played  uncommonly  well — didn't  you  think 


so? 


"  Indeed,  I  did.  Execution  and  expression  were 
both  fine.  She  has  studied  in  Europe,  Mrs.  Hart 
says." 

"  Did  you  learn  who  her  husband  is  ? " 
"  I  learned  that  he  isn't.     I  was  right  in  my  con 
jecture.     She  is  a  widow." 

"That's  a  relief.  I  am  glad  she  is  not  •encum 
bered  with  a  husband." 

"  Fie  upon  you,  man  !  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  to  say  it.  He  has  been  dead  quite  a 
number  of  years." 

"  Quite  a  number  of  years  ?  Why,  she  can't  be 
more  than  twenty-four  or  five  years  old — and 
besides,  she's  still  in  mourning." 

"  I  guess  that's  about  her  age.  But  the  mourn 
ing  doesn't  signify,  because  it's  becoming  to  her  ; 
and  so  she  would  naturally  keep  it  up  as  long  as 
possible." 

"  That  introduces  the  point  of  chief  importance. 
What  did  you  think  of  her  appearance  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  has  magnificent  eyes,  and  looks  refined 
and  interesting— looks  as  though  she  knew  what 
sorrow  meant,  too — only,  perhaps  the  least  bit  cold. 
No,  cold  isn't  the  word.  •  Say  dignified,  serious, 
a  woman  with  whom  one  could  never  be  familiar — 
in  whose  presence  one  would  always  feel  a  little 


88  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

— a  little  constrained.  That  isn't  exactly  what  I 
mean,  either.  You  understand — one  would  always 
have  to  be  on  one's  guard  not  to  say  any  thing 
flippant  or  trivial." 

"  You  mean  she  looks  as  though  she  were  defi 
cient  in  levity  ? " 

"  Well,  as  though  she  wouldn't  tolerate  any  thing 
petty — a  dialogue  such  as  ours  now,  for  exam- 
pie." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  have  formed  a  cor 
rect  notion  of  her,  or  not.  Cold  she  certainly  isn't. 
She's  an  enthusiast  on  the  subject  of  music.  And 
when  we  were  talking  about  Wagner,  she — wasn't 
exactly  flippant — but  she  showed  that  she  could  be 
jocose.  There's  something  about  her  that's  exceed 
ingly  impressive,  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  But  I 
know  that  she  made  me  feel,  somehow,  very  small. 
She  made  me  feel  that  underneath  her  quiet  man 
ner — hidden  away  somewhere  in  her  frail  woman's 
body — there  was  the  capability  of  immense  power. 
She  reminded  me  of  the  women  in  Robert  Brown 
ing's  poetry — of  the  heroine  of  the  '  Inn  Album ' 
especially.  Yet  she  said  nothing  remarkable — 
nothing  to  justify  such  an  estimate." 

"  You  were  affected  by  her  personal  magnetism. 
A  woman  with  eyes  like  hers— and  mighty  scarce 
they  are — always  gives  you  the  idea  of  power. 
Young  as  she  is,  I  suspect  she's  been  through  a 
good  deal.  She  has  had  her  experiences.  That 
seems  to  be  written  on  her  face.  Yet  she  didn't 
strike  me  as  having  the  peach-bloom  rubbed  off — 


'•  TffA  T  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE  SHE."  89 

though,  of  course,  I  had  no  chance  to  examine  her 
closely." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  the  peach-bloom  is  there  in  abundance. 
Well,  at  all  events,  she's  a  problem  which  it  will  be 
interesting  to  solve.  By  the  way,  what  possessed 
you  to  accept  Mrs.  Berle's  invitation  to  tea?" 

"  What  possessed  me  ?  Why  should  I  have  done 
otherwise  ? " 

"  It  will  be  an  insufferable  bore." 

"  Who  was  it  that  somewhat  earlier  in  the  after 
noon  preached  me  a  sermon  on  the  duties  we  owe 
that  identical  Mrs.  Berle  ?  " 

Arthur  spent  the  evening  reading.  Hetzel,  peep 
ing  over  his  shoulder,  saw  that  the  book  of  his 
choice  was  "  The  Inn  Album  "  by  Robert  Brown 
ing. 


CHAPTER   V. 

"  A    NOTHING    STARTS  THE    SPRING.  " 

ANOTHER  week  slipped  away.  The  weather 
changed.  There  was  rain  almost  every  day, 
and  a  persistent  wind  blew  from  the  north-east. 
So  the  loggia  of  No.  43  Beekman  Place  was  not 
much  patronized.  Nevertheless,  Arthur  heard  Mrs. 
Lehmyl  sing  from  time  to  time.  When  he  would 
reach  home  at  night,  he  generally  ensconced  him 
self  near  to  a  window  at  the  front  of  the  house ; 
and  now  and  then  his  vigilance  was  encouraged  by 
the  sound  of  her  voice. 

Hetzel,  of  course,  ran  him  a  good  deal.  He  took 
the  running  very  philosophically.  "  I  admit,"  he 
said,  "  that  she  piques  my  curiosity,  and  I  don't 
know  any  reason  why  she  shouldn't.  Such  a  voice, 
joined  to  such  beauty  and  intelligence,  is  it  not 
enough  to  interest  any  body  with  the  least  spark 
of  imagination  ?  When  are  you  going  to  call  upon 
them?"  But  Hetzel  was  busy.  "  Examinations 
are  now  in  full  blast,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  have  no 
leisure  for  calling  on  any  one." 

"  *  It  sometimes  make  a  body  sour  to  see  how 
things  are  shared,'  "  complained  Arthur.  "  To 
him  who  appreciates  it  not,  the  privilege  is  given  ; 
whereas,  from  him  who  would  appreciate  it  to  its 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING"       91 

full,  the  privilege  is  withheld.  I  only  wish  I  had 
your  opportunity." 

Hetzel  smiled  complacently. 

"  And  then,"  Arthur  went  on,  "  not  even  an 
occasional  encounter  in  the  street.  Every  day, 
coming  and  going,  I  cherish  the  hope  that  we 
may  meet  each  other,  she  and  I.  Living  so  close 
together,  it  would  be  but  natural  if  we  should. 
But  I'm  down  in  my  luck.  We  might  as  well  dwell  at 
the  antipodes,  for  all  we  gain  by  being  near  neigh 
bors.  Concede  that  Fate  is  deucedly  unkind." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Hetzel,  reflect 
ively.  "  Perhaps  Fate  is  acting  for  the  best.  My 
private  opinion  is  that  the  less  you  see  of  that 
woman,  the  better  for  you.  You're  a  pretty  sus 
ceptible  young  man  ;  and  those  eyes  of  hers  might 
play  sad  havoc  with  your  affections." 

"  That's  just  the  way  with  you  worldly,  practical, 
materialistic  fellows.  You  can't  conceive  that  a 
man  may  be  interested  in  a  woman,  without  making 
a  fool  of  himself,  and  getting  spoony  over  her. 
You  haven't  enough  spiritualism  in  your  composi 
tion  to  realize  that  a  woman  may  appeal  to  a  man 
purely  on  abstract  principles." 

Hetzel  laughed. 

"  You're  a  cynic,"  Arthur  informed  him. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  playing  with  fire,"  he 
retorted. 

Thereafter  their  conversation  drifted  to  other 
themes. 

Well,  the  week   glided   by,   and  it  was  Sunday 


92  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

again  ;  and  with  Sunday  there  occurred  another 
change  in  the  weather.  The  mercury  shot  up 
among  the  eighties,  and  the  sky  grew  to  an 
immense  dome  of  blue.  Sunday  morning  Hetzel 
said,  "  1  suppose  you  haven't  forgotten  that  we  are 
engaged  to  sup  with  Mrs.  Berle  this  evening  ? " 
To  which  Arthur  responded,  yawning,  "  Oh,  no  ; 
it  has  weighed  upon  my  consciousness  ever  since 
you  accepted  her  invitation." 

"  I  wouldn't  let  it  distress  me  so  much,  if  I  were 
you.  And,  by  the  way,  don't  you  think  it  would  be 
well  for  us  to  take  some  flowers  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  a  polite  thing  to  do." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  make  an  excursion  over  to 
the  florist's  on  Third  Avenue,  and  lay  in  an  assort 
ment  ?  " 

"  You're  the  horticulturist  of  this  establishment. 
Go  yourself." 

"  No.  Your  taste  is  superior  to  mine.  Go  along. 
Get  a  goodly  number  of  cut  flowers,  and  then  two  or 
three  nosegays  for  the  ladies." 

"  Ladies  ?  What  ladies  ?  "  demanded  Arthur, 
brightening  up.  "  Who  is  to  be  there,  besides  us 
and  Mrs.  Berle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  that  any  body  is.  I  thought 
perhaps  one  of  her  daughters,  or  a  friend,  or —  " 

"  Well,  maybe  I'll  go  over  this  afternoon.  For 
the  present — " 

"  This  afternoon  will  be  too  late.  The  shops 
close  early,  you  know,  on  Sunday." 

Arthur  issued  forth   upon  his  quest  for   flowers. 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING."        93 

What  was  it  that  prompted  him,  after  the  main 
purchase  had  been  made,  to  ask  the  tradesman, 
"  Now,  have  you  something  especially  nice,  some 
thing  unique,  that  would  do  for  a  lady's  corsage  ?  " 

The  shopkeeper  replied,  "  Yes,  sir,  I  have  some 
thing  very  rare  in  the  line  of  jasmine.  Only  a 
handful  in  the  market.  This  way,  sir." — Arthur 
was  conducted  to  the  conservatory  behind  the 
shop;  and  there  he  devoted  a  full  quarter  hour  of 
his  valuable  time  to  the  construction  of  a  very 
pretty  and  fragrant  bunch  of  jasmine.  What  was  it 
that  induced  this  action  ? 

When  he  got  back  home  and  displayed  his  spoils 
to  Hetzel,  the  latter  said,  "  And  this  jasmine — I 
suppose  you  intend  it  for  Mrs.  Berle  to  wear,  yes  ?" 
To  which  Arthur  vouchsafed  no  response. 

They  went  down  stairs  at  six  o'clock.  Mrs. 
Berle- was  alone  in  her  parlor.  They  had  scarcely 
more  than  made  their  obeisance,  however,  when 
the  door-bell  rang  ;  and  presently  the  rustle  of 
ladies'  gowns  became  audible  in  the  hallway. 
Next  moment  the  door  opened — and  Arthur's  heart 
began  to  beat  at  break-neck  speed.  Entered,  Mrs. 
Hart  and  Mrs.  Lehmyl. 

"  I  surmised  as  much,  and  you  knew  it  all  the 
while,"  Arthur  gasped  in  a  whisper  to  Hetzel. 

His  friend  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

The  first  clamor  of  greetings  being  over  with, 
Arthur,  his  bunch  of  jasmine  held  fast  in  his  hand, 
began,  "  Mrs.  Lehmyl,  may  I  beg  of  you  to  accept 
these  little " 


94  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

11  Oh,  aren't  they  delicious  !  "  she  cried,  im 
pulsively. 

Her  eyes  brightened,  and  she  bent  over  the 
flowers  to  breathe  in  their  incense. 

"  But  I  mustn't  keep  them  all  for  myself,"  she 
added. 

"  Oh,  we  are  equally  well  treated,"  said  Mrs. 
Hart,  flourishing  a  knot  of  Jacqueminot  roses. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Mrs.  Berle  joined  in,  pointing  to 
a  table,  the  marble  top  of  which  was  hidden  beneath 
a  wealth  of  variegated  blossoms. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Mrs.  Lehmyl.  And  she 
went  on  picking  her  bouquet  to  pieces.  Mrs.  Hart 
and  Mrs.  Berle  received  their  shares  ;  Hetzel  his  ; 
and  then,  turning  to  Arthur,  "  Maintenant,  mon 
sieur"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  coquetry,  "  main- 
tenant  &  votre  tour."  She  fastened  a  spray  of  jas 
mine  to  the  lappel  of  his  coat.  In  doing  so,  a 
delicate  whiff  of  perfume  was  wafted  upward  from 
her  hair.  Whether  it  possessed  some  peculiar  elixir- 
like  quality,  or  not,  I  can  not  tell  ;  but  at  that 
instant  Arthur  felt  a  thrill  pierce  to  the  very  inner 
most  of  his  heart. 

"  It  is  so  warm,"  said  Mrs.  Berle,  "  I  thought  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  take  supper  out  of  doors.  If 
you  are  agreeable,  we  will  go  down  to  the  back 
yard." 

In  the  back- yard  the  table  was  set  beneath  a 
blossoming  peach-tree.  The  grass  plot  made  an 
unexceptionable  carpet.  Honeysuckle  vines  clam 
bered  over  the  fence.  The  river  glowed  warmly  in 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING."        95 

the  light  of  the  declining  sun.  The  country  beyond 
on  Long  Island  lay  smiling  at  the  first  persuasive 
touch  of  summer — of  the  summer  that,  ere  long 
waxing  fiercely  ardent,  was  to  scorch  and  con 
sume  it. 

Mrs.  Lehmyl  looked  around,  with  child-like  hap 
piness  shining  in  her  eyes.  Arthur  looked  at  her. 

"  Permit  me  to  make  you  acquainted  with  my 
brother,  Mr.  Lipman,"  said  the  hostess. 

Mr.  Lipman  had  a  head  that  the  Wandering  Jew 
might  have  been  proud  of  ;  snow-white  hair  and 
beard,  olive  skin,  regular  features  of  the  finest 
Oriental  type,  and  deep-set,  coal-black  eyes,  with 
an  expression  in  them — an  anxious,  eager,  hope 
lessly  hopeful  expression — that  told  the  whole  story 
of  the  travail  and  sorrow  of  his  race.  He  kissed 
the  hands  of  the  ladies  and  shook  those  of  the 
gentlemen. 

"  Now,  to  the  table  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Berle. 

The  table  was  of  appetizing  aspect  ;  an  immacu 
late  cloth,  garnished  by  divers  German  dishes,  and  J 
beautified  by  the  flowers  our  friends  had  brought. 
Arthur's  chair  was  placed  at  the  right  of  Mrs. 
Lehmyl's.  Conversation,  however,  was  general 
from  first  to  last.  Hetzel  contributed  an  anecdote 
in  the  Irish  dialect,  at  which  he  was  an  adept. 
Arthur  told  of  a  comic  incident  that  had  happened 
in  court  the  other  day.  Mrs.  Lehmyl  said  she 
could  not  fancy  any  thing  being  comic  in  a  court 
room — the  atmosphere  of  a  court-room  sent  such  a 
chill  to  the  heart,  she  should  think  it  would  operate 


96  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

as  an  anaesthetic  upon  the  humorous  side  of  a 
person.  Mr.  Lipman  gave  a  few  reminiscences  of 
the  Hungarian  revolt  of  '49,  in  which  he  had  been 
a  participant,  wielding  a  brace  of  empty  seltzer 
bottles,  so  he  said,  in  default  of  nobler  weapons. 
This  led  the  talk  up  to  the  superiority  of  America 
over  the  effete  monarchies  of  Europe.  After  a 
good  deal  of  patriotism  had  asserted  itself,  a  little 
criticism  began  to  crop  out.  By  and  by  the  God 
dess  of  Liberty  had  had  her  character  thoroughly 
dissected.  With  the  coffee,  Mrs.  Berle,  who  had 
heretofore  shone  chiefly  as  a  listener,  said,  "  Now, 
you  young  gentlemen  may  smoke,  just  as  if  you 
were  three  flights  higher  up."  So  they  lit  their 
cigars — in  which  pastime  Mr.  Lipman  joined  them 
— and  sat  smoking  and  chatting  over  the  table  till 
it  had  grown  quite  dark.  At  last  it  was  moved 
that  the  party  should  adjourn  to  the  parlor  and 
have  some  music.  There  being  no  Wagnerites 
present,  Mrs.  Lehmyl  sang  Jensen's  Lehn  deine 
Wang,  with  so  much  fervor  that  two  big  tears 
gathered  in  Mr.  Lipman's  eyes  and  rolled  down 
his  cheeks.  Then,  to  restore  gayety,  she  sang  La 
Paloma,  in  the  merriest  way  imaginable ;  and 
finally,  to  bring  the  pendulum  of  emotion  back  to 
its  mean  position,  Voi  chi  Sapete  from  the  "  Mar 
riage  of  Figaro."  After  this  there  was  an  interim 
during  which  every  body  found  occasion  to  say  his 
say  ;  and  then  Mrs.  Berle  announced,  "  My  brother 
plays  the  'cello.  Now  he  must  also  play  a  little, 
yes  ? " 


"  A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING."        97 

Mrs.  Lehmyl  was  delighted  by  the  prospect  of 
hearing  the  'cello  played  ;  and  Mr.  Lipman  per 
formed  a  courtly  old  bow,  and  said  it  would  be  a 
veritable  inspiration  to  play  to  her  accompaniment. 
Thereupon  they  consulted  together  until  they  had 
agreed  upon  a  selection.  It  proved  to  be  nothing 
less  antiquated  than  Boccherini's  minuet.  The 
quaint  and  graceful  measures,  wrung  out  from 
the  deep-voiced  'cello,  brought  smiles  of  en 
joyment  to  every  face.  u  But,"  says  Arthur, 
"what  pleased  me  quite  as  much  as  the  music 
was  to  keep  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  picture  that  the 
two  musicians  presented  ;  that  old  man's  wonder 
ful  countenance,  peering  out  from  behind  the  neck 
of  his  instrument,  intent,  almost  fierce  in  its  ear 
nestness  ;  and  hers,  pale,  luminous,  passionate,  vary 
ing  with  every  modulation  of  the  tune.  And  all 
the  while  the  scent  of  the  jasmine  bud  haunted  my 
nostrils,  and  recalled  vividly  the  moment  she  had 
pinned  it  into  my  buttonhole." — In  deference  to  the 
demand  for  an  encore,  they  played  Handel's  Largo. 
Then  Mrs.  Berle's  maid  appeared,  bearing  the  inev 
itable  wine  and  cakes.  By  and  by  Mrs.  Hart  be 
gan  to  make  her  adieux.  At  this,  Arthur  slipped 
quietly  out  of  the  room.  When  he  returned,  half 
a  minute  later,  he  had  his  hat  in  his  hand.  Mrs. 
Hart  protested  that  it  was  quite  unnecessary  for 
him  to  trouble  himself  to  see  them  home.  "Why, 
it  is  only  straight  across  the  street,"  she  submitted. 
But  Arthur  was  obstinate. 

On  her  door-step,  Mrs.   Hart  said,  "  We  should 


98  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

be  pleased  to    have  you   call  upon    us,    Mr.  Rip- 
ley." 

He  and  Hetzel  sat  up  till  past  midnight,  talking. 
The  latter  volunteered  a  good  many  favorable  ob 
servations  anent  Mrs.  Lehmyl.  Arthur  could  have 
listened  to  him  till  daybreak. — In  bed  he  had  diffi 
culty  getting  to  sleep.  Among  other  things,  he 
kept  thinking  how  fortunate  it  was  that  Peixada  had 
disapproved  of  the  trip  to  Europe.  "  Why,  New 
York,"  he  soliloquized,  "  is  by  all  means  the  most 
interesting  city  in  the  world." 


He  took  advantage  of  Mrs.  Hart's  permission  to 
call,  as  soon  as  he  reasonably  could.  While  he  was 
waiting  for  somebody  to  appear,  he  admired  the 
decorations  of  Mrs.  Hart's  parlor.  Neat  gauze 
curtains  at  the  windows,  a  rosy-hued  paper  on  the 
wall,  a  soft  carpet  under  foot,  pretty  pictures,  pleas 
ant  chairs  and  tables,  lamps  and  porcelains,  and  a 
book-case  filled  with  interesting  looking  books, 
combined  to  lend  the  room  an  attractive,  homelike 
aspect  ;  for  all  of  which,  without  cause,  Arthur 
assumed  that  Mrs.  Lehmyl  was  answerable.  An 
upright  piano  occupied  a  corner  ;  a  sheet  of  music 
lay  open  on  the  rack.  He  was  bending  over  it,  to 
spell  out  the  composer's  name,  when  he  heard  a 
rustling  of  silk,  and,  turning  around,  he  made  his 
bow  to — Mrs.  Hart. 

Mrs.  Hart  was  accompanied  by  her  cats. 

Arthur's  spirits  sank. 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING."         99 

"  Ah,  how  do  you  do  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hart.  "  I'm 
so  glad  to  see  you." 

She  shook  his  hand  cordially  and  bade  him  be 
seated.  He  sat  down  and  looked  at  the  ceiling. 

"Why  didn't  you  bring  your  comrade,  Mr. 
Hetzel  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Oh,  Hetzel,  he's  got  an  examination  on  his 
hands,  you  know,  and  has  perforce  become  a  recluse 
— obliged  to  spend  his  evenings  wading  through  the 
students'  papers,"  explained  Arthur,  in  a  tone  of 
sepulchral  melancholy. 

Mrs.  Hart  tried  to  manufacture  conversation. 
Arthur  responded  absent-mindedly.  Neither  allu 
ded  to  Mrs.  Lehmyl.  Arthur,  fearing  to  appear 
discourteous,  endeavored  to  behave  as  though  it 
was  to  profit  by  Mrs.  Hart's  society  alone  that  he 
had  called.  His  voice,  notwithstanding,  kept  ac 
quiring  a  more  and  more  lugubrious  quality.  But, 
by  and  by,  when  the  flame  of  hope  had  dwindled  to 
a  spark,  a  second  rustling  of  silk  became  audible. 
With  a  heart-leap  that  for  a  moment  rendered 
him  dumb,  he  heard  a  sweet  voice  say,  "  Good  even 
ing,  Mr.  Ripley."  He  lifted  his  eyes,  and  saw  Mrs. 
Lehmyl  standing  before  him,  smiling  and  proffering 
her  hand.  Silently  cursing  his  embarrassment,  he 
possessed  himself  of  the  hand,  and  stammered  out 
some  sort  of  a  greeting.  There  was  a  magic  about 
that  hand  of  hers.  As  he  touched  it,  an  electric 
tingle  shot  up  his  arm. 

Alt  three  found  chairs.  Mrs.  Hart  produced  a 
bag  of  knitting.  One  of  the  cats  established  him- 


100  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

self  in  Mrs.  Lehmyl's  lap,  and  went  to  sleep.  The 
other  rubbed  up  against  Arthur's  knee,  purring 
confidentially.  Arthur  cudgeled  his  wits  for  an  apt 
theme.  At  last  he  got  bravely  started. 

"  What  a  fine-looking  old  fellow  that  Mr.  Lipman 
was,"  he  said.  "  It  isn't  often  that  one  sees  a  face 
like  his  in  America." 

I       "  No — not    among    the  Americans    of    English 
i  blood  ;  they  haven't  enough  temperamental  rich- 
*•   ness,"  acquiesced  Mrs.  Lehmyl. 
p      "  Yes,  that's  so.     The  most  interesting  faces  one 
encounters  here  belong  to  foreigners — especially  to 
the  Jews.     Mr.  Lipman,  you  know,  is  a  Jew." 

"  Naturally,  being  Mrs.  Berle's  brother." 

"  It's  rather  odd,  Mrs.  Lehmyl,  but  the  more  1 
see  of  the  Jews,  the  better  I  like  them.  Aside  from 
the  interest  they  possess  as  a  phenomenon  in  his 
tory,  they're  very  agreeable  to  me  as  individuals.  I 
can't  at  all  comprehend  the  prejudice  that  some 
people  harbor  against  them." 

"  How  very  liberal."  If  there  was  a  shade  of 
irony  in  her  tone,  it  failed  of  its  effect  upon  Arthur, 
who,  inspired  by  his  subject,  went  gallantly  on  : 

"  Their  past,  you  know,  is  so  poetic.  They  have 
the  warmth  of  old  wine  in  their  blood.  I've  seen  a 
great  deal  of  them.  This  neighborhood  is  a  regu 
lar  ghetto.  Then  down-town  I  rub  elbows  with 
them  constantly.  Indeed,  my  best  client  is  a  Jew. 
And  my  friend,  Hetzel,  he's  of  Jewish  extraction, 
though  he  doesn't  keep  up  with  the  religion.  On 
the  average,  I  think  the  Jews  are  the  kindest-heart- 


"A  NO  THING  STARTS  THE  SPRING . "      I  o  I 

ed  and  clearest-minded  people  one  meets  herea 
bouts.  That  Mr.  Lipman  was  a  specimen  of  the 
highest  type.  It  was  delightful  to  watch  his  face, 
when  you  and  he  were  playing — so  fervent,  so  un- 
selfconscious." 

"  And  he  played  capitally,  too — caught  the  true 
spirit  of  the  music." 

"  So  it  seemed  to  me,  though  of  course,  I'm  not 
competent  to   criticise.     Speaking  of  faces,    Mrs. 
Lehmyl,  I  hope  you  won't  mind"  m^j, saymg  that'', 
your  face  does  not  look  to  me  like 'an' American — I' 
mean  English- American."  • •  \ ''  '•  >  \]  < 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  it  should.  I'm  not 
English-American." 

"  Ah,  I  felt  sure  of  it.  I  felt  sure  you  had  Italian 
blood  in  your  veins." 

"  No — nor  Italian  either." 

"Well,  Spanish,  then?" 

"  Why,    I    supposed    you    knew.     I — I    am    a  1   ^ 
Jewess." 

"  Mercy  !  "  gasped  Arthur,  blushing  to  the  roots 
of  his  hair.  "  I  hope — I  hope  you — "  He  broke  off, 
and  squirmed  uncomfortably  in  his  chair. 

"  Why,  is  it  possible  you  didn't  know  it  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Lehmyl. 

"  Indeed,  I  did  not.  If  I  had,  I  assure  you,  I 
shouldn't  have  put  my  foot  in  it  as  I  did — shouldn't 
have  made  bold  to  patronize  your  race  as  I  was 
doing.  I  meant  every  word  I  spoke,  though.  The 
Jews  are  a  noble  and  beautiful  people,  with  a  record 
that  we  Gentiles  might  well  envy." 


I°2  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  You  said  nothing  that  was  not  perfectly  proper. 
Don't  imagine  for  an  instant  that  you  touched  a 
sensitive  spot.     I  am  a  Jewess  by  birth,   though,   i 
like  your  friend,    Mr.   Hetzel,   I  don't  go  to  the    |>|f 
temple.     Modern  ceremonial  Judaism  is  not  to  me 
especially  satisfying  as  a  religion." 

"  You  are  not  orthodox  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  otherwise." 

u  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  I  am  glad  that  there  is 
this  tentocy  camong  the  better  educated  Jews  to  fL 
cast  loose  from  their  Judaism.  I  want  to  see  them 
;  in;termar;ry?  with  the  ,  Christians— amalgamate,  and 
help  to  form  the  American  people  of  the  future. 
That  of  course  is  their  destiny." 

"  I  suppose  it  is." 

"  You  speak  as  though  you  regretted  it." 

"  No  ;    I   don't    regret  it.     I   am  too  good   an 
American   to  regret  it.     But   it  is  a  little  melan- 
\  choly,   to   say  the  least,   to  see   one  of  the  most 
1  cherished  of  Jewish  ideals  being  abandoned  before 
the  first  step  is  made  toward  realizing  it." 

"  What  ideal  is  that  1  " 

"  Why,  the  hope  that  cheered  the  Jews 
through  the  many  centuries  of  their  persecu 
tion — the  hope  that  a  time  would  come  when 
they  could  compel  recognition  from  their  perse 
cutors,  when,  as  a  united  people,  they  could 
stand  forth  before  the  world,  pure  and  strong 
and  upright,  and  exact  credit  for  their  due.  The 
Jew  has  been  for  so  long  a  time  the  despised  and 
rejected  of  men,  that  now,  when  he  has  the  oppor- 


"  A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRIArG"      103 

tunity,  it  seems  as  though  he  ought  to  improve  it- 
show  the  stuff  he  is  made  of,  prove  that  Shylock  is 
a  libel  upon  him,  justify  his  past,  achieve  great 
results,  demonstrate  that  he  only  needed  light  and 
liberty  to  develop  into  a  leader  of  progress.  The 
Jew  has  eternally  been  complaining — crying,  '  You 
think  I  am  such  an  inferior  style  of  personage  ; 
give  me  a  chance,  and  I  will  convince  you  of  your 
error.'  Now  that  the  chance  is  given  htm,  it  seems 
a  pity  for  him  quietly  to  efface  himself,  become 
indistinguishable  in  the  mass  of  mankind.  I  should 
like  him  to  retain  the  name  of  Jew  until  it  has 
grown  to  be  a  term  of  honor,  instead  of  one  of 
reproach.  However,  his  destiny  is  otherwise  ;  and 
he  must  make  the  best  of  it.  It  is  the  destiny  of 
the  dew-drop  '  to  slip  into  the  shining  sea.'  Prob 
ably  it  is  better  that  it  should  be  so." 

"  But  how  many  Jews  are  there  who  would  sub 
scribe  to  your  view  of  the  case — who  would  admit 
that  amalgamation  is  inevitable  ?  " 

"  Doubtless,  very  few.  Most  of  them  have  no 
views  at  all  on  the  subject.  The  majority  of  the 
wealthier  Jews  here  in  America  are  epicureans. 
Eat,  drink,  be  merry,  and  lay  up  a  competence  for 
the  rainy  clay,  is  about  their  philosophy.  But'~ 
among  the  older  people  the  prejudice  against  inter 
marriage  is  wonderfully  strong.  We  shall  have  to 
wait  for  a  generation  or  two,  before  it  can  become 
common.  But  it  is  a  prejudice  pure  and  simple, 
the  offspring  of  superstition,  and  not  the  result  of 
allegiance  to  that  ideal  I  was  speaking  of.  The 


104  MXS.  PEIXADA. 

average  Jew  of  a  certain  age  may  not  care  a  fig  for 
his  religion,  but  if  he  hears  of  an  instance  of  inter 
marriage,  he  will  hold  up  his  hands  in  horror,  and 
wag  his  head,  and  predict  some  dire  calamity  for 
the  bride  and  bridegroom.  The  same  man  will  not 
enter  a  synagogue  from  year's  end  to  year's  end, 
and  should  you  happen  to  discuss  theology  with 
him,  you'd  put  him  down  for  an  out-and-out  ration 
alist  at  once.  But  then,  plenty  of  people  who 
pride  themselves  on  being  freethinkers,  are  pro 
foundly  superstitious— Gentiles  as  well  as  Jews." 

"  No  doubt  about  that.  In  fact,  I  think  that 
every  body  has  a  trace  of  superstition  in  his  make 
up,  no  matter  how  emancipated  he  may  fancy  him 
self.  Now  I,  for  example,  can't  help  attributing 
some  uncanny  potency  to  the  number  seven.  There 
are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are 
dreamed  of  by  modern  science  ;  and  perhaps 
superstition  is  a  crude  way  of  acknowledging  this 
truth.  It  is  the  reaction  of  the  imagination,  when 
confronted  with  the  unknowable." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  much  which  passes  for 
superstition  in  the  world,  ought  not  to  be  so  called. 
It  is,  rather,  a  super-sense.  There  is  a  subtle 
something  that  broods  over  human  life— as  the 
aroma  broods  over  a  goblet  of  old  wine— a  some 
thing  of  such  fine,  impalpable  texture,  that  many 
men  and  women  are  never  able  to  perceive  it,  but 
which  others  of  more  sensitive  organization,  feel 
all  the  time— are  forever  conscious  of.  This  is 
the  material  which  the  imagination  seizes  hold  of, 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING."       105 

and  out  of  which  it  spins  those  fantastic,  cobweb 
shapes  that  practical  persons  scoff  at  as  supersti 
tions.  I  can't  understand,  however,  how  any  body 
can  specialize  it  to  the  extent  of  linking  it  to  arith 
metic,  as  you  do,  and  as  those  do  who  are  afraid 
of  thirteen." 

"  What  you  have  reference  to  falls,  rather,  under 
the  head  of  mysticism,  does  it  not  ?  And  mysticism 
is  one  form  of  poetry.  You  come  rightfully  by 
your  ideas  on  this  subject.  A  strain  of  mysticism 
is  your  birthright,  a  portion  of  your  inheritance  as 
a  Jewess.  It's  one  of  the  benefits  you  derive  from 
being  something  more  than  an  American." 

"  Oh,  but   I  am  an   American,  besides.     It  is  a  I 
privilege  to  be  one." 

"I  meant  American  of  English  ancestry.  We 
are  all  Americans — or  more  precisely,  we  are  all 
immigrants  or  the  descendants  of  immigrants. 
But  those  of  us  that  have  an  infusion  of  warmer 
blood  than  the  English  in  our  veins,  are  to  be  con 
gratulated."  9 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  Ripley  is  an  English 
name." 

"  So  it  is.  But  my  father's  mother  was  a  French- 
woman." 

"  A  ruddy  drop  of  Gallic  blood  outweighs  a  world 
of  gold,"  parodied  Mrs.  Lehmyl. 

"  Oh,  you  may  make  fun  of  me,  if  you  like," 
cried  Arthur  ;  "  but  my  comfort  in  thinking  of 
that  French  grandmother  of  mine  will  remain 
undiminished.  I  wonder,"  he  added,  more  gravely, 


Io6  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  I  wonder  whether  you  have  ever  suffered  from  any 
of  the  indignities  that  your  people  are  sometimes  put 
to,  Mrs.  Lehmyl.  I  declare  I  have  been  tempted  to 
wring  the  necks  of  my  fellow  Gentiles,  now  and 
then." 

"  Suffered  ?  I  have  occasionally  been  amused.  1 
should  not  have  much  self-respect,  if  any  thing  like 
that  could  cause  me  suffering.  Last  summer,  for 
instance,  Mrs.  Hart  and  I  were  in  the  mountains, 
at  a  hotel.  Every  body,  to  begin  with,  was  dis 
posed  to  be  very  sociable.  Then,  innocently 
enough,  one  day  I  said  we  were  Jewesses.  After 
that  we  were  left  severely  alone.  1  remember,  we 
got  into  an  omnibus  one  afternoon  to  drive  to  the 
village.  A  young  man  and  a  couple  of  young 
ladies — guests  at  the  same  house — were  already  in 
it.  They  glared  at  us  quite  savagely,  and  whis 
pered,  *  Jews!'  and  signaled  the  driver  to  stop 
and  let  them  out.  So  we  had  the  conveyance  to 
ourselves,  for  which  we  were  not  sorry." 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  there  !  "  cried  Arthur,  with 
astonishing  energy. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Mrs.   Lehmyl. 

"  Oh,  that  young  man  and  I  would  have  had  an 
interview  alone,"  he  answered,  in  a  blood-curdling 
key. 

"  He  means  that  he  would  have  given  that  young- 
man  a  piece  of  his  mind,"  put  in  Mrs.  Hart. 

The  sound  of  her  voice  occasioned  Arthur  a 
veritable  start.  He  had  forgotten  that  she  was 
present. 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING."      107 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  Lehmyl.  "  To  resent 
such  conduct  would  lend  undue  importance  to  it." 

"  All  the  same  it  makes  my  blood  boil — the 
thought  that  those  young  animals  dared  to  be  rude 
to  you." 

The  pronoun  "  you"  was  spoken  with  a  signifi 
cant  emphasis.  A  student  of  human  nature  could 
have  inferred  volumes  from  it.  Mrs.  Hart  straight 
way  proceeded  to  demolish  her  own  claims  to  be 
called  a  student  of  human  nature,  if  she  had  any, 
by  construing  the  syllable  in  the  plural  number. 

"  I'm  sure  we  appreciate  your  sympathy,"  she 
said.  "  Ruth,  play  a  little  for  Mr.  Ripley." 

Was  this  intended  as  a  reward  of  merit  ?  Con 
trariwise  to  the  gentleman  in  Punch,  Arthur  would 
so  much  rather  have  heard  her  talk  than  play. 

"Shall  I?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  should  be  delighted,"  he  assented. 

She  played  the  Pathetic  Sonata.  Before  she  had 
got  beyond  the  first  dozen  bars,  Arthur  had  been 
caught  up  and  borne  away  on  the  strong  current  of 
the  music.  She  played  with  wonderful  execution  and 
perfect  feeling.  I  suppose  Arthur  had  heard  the 
Pathetic  Sonata  a  score  of  times  before.  He  had 
never  begun  to  appreciate  it  till  now.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  in  a  language  of  superhuman  clear 
ness  and  directness,  the  subtlest  and  most  sacred 
mysteries  of  the  soul  were  being  explained  to  him. 
Every  emotion,  every  passion,  that  the  heart  can 
feel,  he  seemed  to  hear  expressed  by  the  mirac 
ulous  voice  that  Mrs.  Lehmyl  was  calling  into 


Io8  MRS.  PF.IXADA. 

being ;  and  his  own  heart  vibrated  in  unison. 
Deep  melancholy,  breathless  terror,  keen,  quiver 
ing  anguish,  blank  despair  ;  flashes  of  short-lived 
joy,  instants  of  hope  speedily  ingulfed  in  an 
eternity  of  despond  ;  tremulous  desire,  the  delirium 
of  enjoyment,  the  bitter  awakening  to  a  sense  of 
satiety  and  self-deception  ;  intervals  of  quiet  reflec 
tion,  broken  in  upon  by  the  turbulent  cries  of  a 
hundred  malicious  spirits ;  weird  glimpses  into  a 
world  of  phantom  shapes,  exaltation  into  the 
seventh  heaven  of  delight,  descent  into  the  bottom 
pit  of  darkness  ;  these  were  a  few  of  the  strange 
and  vague,  but  none  the  less  intense,  emotional 
experiences  through  which  Mrs.  Lehmyl  led  him. 
When  she  returned  to  her  chair,  opposite  his  own, 
he  could  only  look  upon  her  face  and  wonder  ;  he 
could  not  speak.  A  delicate  flush  had  overspread 
her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  shone  even  more  brightly 
than  their  wont.  She  evidently  misunderstood  his 
silence. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  with  frank  disappointment,  "  it 
did  not  please  you." 

"  Please  me  ?  "  he  cried.  "  No,  indeed,  it  did  not 
please  me.  It  was  like  Dante's  journey  through  the 
three  realms  of  the  dead.  It  was  like  seeing  a  miracle 
performed.  It  overpowered  me.  I  suppose  I  am 
too  susceptible — weak,  if  you  will,  and  womanish. 
But  such  music  as  that — I  could  no  more  have 
withstood  its  spell,  than  I  could  withstand  the 
influence  of  strong  wine." 

"  Speaking   of    strong   wine,"   said    Mrs.   Hart, 


"  A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING"      109 

"  what  if  you  should  try  a  little  mild  wine  ? "  And 
she  pointed  to  a  servant  who  had  crossed  the 
threshold  in  the  midst  of  Arthur's  rhapsody,  and 
who  bore  a  tray  with  glasses  and  a  decanter. 

"  In  spite  of  this  anti-climax,"  he  said,  sipping 
his  wine,  "  what  I  said  was  the  truth." 

"  It  is  the  fault,  no  doubt,  of  your  French  blood, 
Monsieur,"  said  Mrs.  Lehmyl.  "  But  I  confess  that, 
perhaps  in  a  moderated  degree,  music  has  much  the 
same  effect  upon  me.  When  I  first  heard  La  Dam 
nation  de  Faust,  I  had  to  hold  on  to  the  arms  of  my 
chair,  to  keep  from  being  carried  bodily  away. 
You  remember  that  dreadful  ride  into  perdition — 
toward  the  end  ?  I  really  felt  that  if  I  let  go  my 
anchorage,  I  should  be  swept  off  along  with  Faust 
and  Mephistopheles." 

"  I  remember.  But  that  did  not  affect  me  so.  I 
never  was  so  affected  till  I  heard  you  play  just  now." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  feel  compli 
mented,  or  the  reverse." 

"  What  is  the  feeling  we  naturally  have  at  per 
ceiving  our  power  over  another  human  being  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lehmyl  changed  the  subject. 

"  That  was  an  exceedingly  clever  guess  you 
made  the  other  day,"  she  said,  "  that  I  was  a  lover 
of  Browning.  I  can't  understand  what  suggested  it." 

"  I  told  you  then  that  I  dared  not  enlighten  you, 
lest  I  might  be  deemed  presumptuous.  If  you 
will  promise  me  absolution,  beforehand — " 

"  But  you,  too,  I  take  for  granted,  share  my 
sentiments." 


no  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  What  I  have  read  is  unsurpassed.  '  The  Inn 
Album,'  for  example." 

"  And  '  The  Ring  and  the  Book.'  " 

"  I  haven't  read  '  The  Ring  and  the  Book.'  " 

"  Oh,  then  you  must  read  it  at  once.  Then  you 
don't  half  know  Browning.  Will  you  read  it,  if  I 
lend  it  to  you  ?  " 

"You  are  very  kind.  I  should  like  nothing 
better." 

Mrs.  Lehmyl  begged  to  be  excused  and  left  the 
room.  Arthur  followed  the  sound  of  her  light, 
quick  footsteps  up  the  stairs. 

"  Browning  is  her  patron  saint,"  volunteered 
Mrs.  Hart.  "  She  spends  her  time  about  equally 
between  him  and  her  piano." 

Mrs.  Lehmyl  came  back. 

"  There,"  she  said,  giving  him  the  volume,  and 
smiling,  "  there  is  my  vade  mecum.  I  love  it  almost 
as  dearly  as  I  could  if  it  were  a  human  being. 
You  must  be  sure  to  like  it." 

"  I  am  sure  you  honor  me  very  highly  by  entrust 
ing  it  to  me,"  he  replied. 

At  home  he  opened  it,  thinking  to  read  for  an 
hour  or  two  before  going  to  bed.  What  interested 
him,  however,  even  more  than  the  strong,  virile, 
sympathetic  poetry,  and,  indeed,  ere  long,  quite 
absorbed  his  attention,  were  the  traces  of  Mrs. 
Lehmyl's  ownership  that  he  came  across  every 
here  and  there — a  corner  dog-eared,  a  passage 
inclosed  by  pencil  lines,  a  fragment  of  rose-petal 
stuck  between  the  pages.  It  gave  him  a  delicious 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING."       in 

sense  of  intimacy  with  her  to  hold  this  book  in  his 
hands.  Had  not  her  hand  warmed  it  ?  her  hair 
shadowed  it  ?  her  very  breath  touched  it  ?  Had  it 
not  been  her  companion  in  solitary  moments  ?  a 
witness  to  the  life  she  led  when  no  human  eye  was 
upon  her  ?  What  precious  secrets  it  might  have 
whispered,  if  it  had  had  a  tongue  !  There  was  a 
slight  discoloration  of  the  paper,  where  Pompilia 
tells  of  her  miseries  as  Guide's  bride.  Who  could 
say  but  that  it  had  been  caused  by  Mrs.  Lehmyl's 
tears  ?  That  she  had  loaned  him  the  book  seemed 
somehow  like  a  mark  of  confidence.  On  the  fly 
leaf  something  had  been  written  in  ink,  and  subse 
quently  scratched  out— probably  her  name.  He 
wondered  why  she  had  erased  it.  Toward  the 
close  of  Caponsacchi's  version,  one  of  the  pages 
had  been  torn  clear  across,  and  then  neatly  pasted 
together  with  tissue  paper  braces.  He  wondered 
what  the  circumstances  were  under  which  the  mis 
chief  had  been  done,  and  whether  the  repair  was 
her  handiwork.  A  faint,  sweet  perfume  clung  to 
the  pages.  It  had  the  power  of  calling  her  up 
vividly  before  him,  and  sending  an  exquisite  tremor 
into  his  heart.  And,  withal,  had  any  body  sug 
gested  that  he  was  at  the  verge  of  falling  in  love 
with  her,  he  would  have  denied  it  stoutly— so  little 
was  he  disposed  to  self-analysis. 

But  ere  a  great  while,  the  scales  fell  from  his 
eyes. 

By  dint   of   much  self-discipline,  he  managed  to 
let   a  week   and  a   day  elapse  before   paying  his 


H2  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

second  call.  While  he  stood  in  the  vestibule, 
waiting  for  the  opening  of  the  door,  sundry  bursts 
of  sound  escaping  from  within,  informed  him  that 
a  duet  was  being  played  upon  the  piano.  Intui 
tively  he  concluded  that  the  treble  part  was  Mrs. 
Lehmyl's  ;  instinctively  he  asked,  "  But  who  is 
carrying  the  bass  ?  "  On  entering  the  parlor,  it 
was  with  a  sharp  and  significant  pang  that  he 
beheld,  seated  at  Mrs.  Lehmyl's  left,  no  less  re 
doubtable  a  creature  than  a  Man.  He  took  a  chair, 
and  sat  down,  and  suffered  untold  wretchedness 
until  that  duet  was  finished.  He  could  not  see  the 
man's  face,  but  the  back  of  his  head  indicated 
youth.  The  vicissitudes  of  the  composition  they 
were  playing  brought  the  two  performers  painfully 
close  together.  This  was  bad  enough;  but  to  poor 
Arthur's  jealous  mind  it  seemed  as  if  from  time  to 
time,  even  when  the  music  furnished  no  excuse,  they 
voluntarily  approached  each  other.  Every  now 
and  then  they  hurriedly  exchanged  a  whispered 
sentence.  He  felt  that  he  would  eagerly  have  bar 
tered  his  ten  fingers  for  the  right  to  know  what  it 
was  they  said.  How  much  satisfaction  would  he 
have  obtained  if  he  had  been  stationed  near  enough 
to  overhear  ?  All  they  said  was,  "  O/ie,  two,  three, 
four,  five,  six."  Perhaps  in  his  suspicious  mood  he 
would  have  magnified  this  innocent  remark  into  a 
confidence  conveyed  by  means  of  a  secret  code. 

When  the  musicians  rose  Arthur  experienced  a 
slight  relief.  Mrs.  Lehmyl  greeted  him  with 
marked  kindness,  and  shook  hands  warmly.  She 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING."     113 

introduced  her  co-executant  as  Mr.  Spencer.  And 
Mr.  Spencer  was  tall,  lean,  gawky  and  bilious-look 
ing. 

But  Arthur's  relief  was  of  short  duration.  Mr. 
Spencer  forthwith  proceeded  to  exhibit  great  famil 
iarity  with  both  of  the  ladies — a  familiarity  which 
they  did  not  appear  to  resent.  Mrs.  Hart,  indeed, 
reciprocated  to  the  extent  of  addressing  him  as 
Dick.  His  conversation  made  it  manifest  that  he 
had  traveled  with  them  in  Europe.  He  was  con 
stantly  referring  to  people  and  places  and  events 
about  which  Arthur  was  altogether  ignorant.  His . 
every  other  sentence  began  :  "  Do  you  remember?" 
Arthur  was  excessively  uneasy  ;  but  he  had  deter 
mined  to  sit  Mr.  Spencer  out,  though  he  should, 
peradventure,  remain  until  sunrise. 

Mr.  Spencer  did  indeed  remain  till  the  night  had 
got  on  its  last  legs.  It  lacked  but  a  quarter  of  mid 
night  when,  finally,  he  accomplished  his  exit. 

Said  Mrs.  Hart,  after  he  had  gone  :  "  A  Boston 
man." 

"  We  met  him,"  said  Mrs.  Lehmyl,  "  at  Aix-les^\ 
Bains.  He's  a  remarkably  well-informed  musician? 
— writes  criticisms  for  one  of  the  Boston  papers." \ 

"  He  came  this  evening,"  went  on  Mrs.  Hart, 
"  to  tell  us  of  the  happy  termination  of  a  love  affair 
in  which  he  was  involved  when  we  last  saw  him. 
He's  going  to  be  married."  . 

At  these  words  Arthur's  spirits  shot  up  far  above, 
their  customary  level.  So  !  There  was  no  occa 
sion  for  jealousy  in  the  quarter  of  Mr.  Spencer,  at 


H4  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

any  rate.  The  reaction  was  so  great  that  had  Mr. 
Spencer  still  been  present,  I  think  our  hero  would 
have  felt  like  hugging  him. 

"  A  very  fine  fellow,  I  should  judge,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  outstaid  him  because  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
that  Hetzel  and  I  have  devised  a  jolly  little  plan 
for  Sunday,  in  which  we  are  anxious  to  have  you 
join  us.  Our  idea  is  to  spend  the  afternoon  in  the 
Metropolitan  Art  Museum.  You  know,  the  pic 
tures  are  well  worth  an  inspection  ;  and  on  Sunday 
there  is  no  crowd.  Hetz  has  procured  a  Sunday 
ticket  through  the  courtesy  of  the  director.  Then, 
afterward,  you  are  to  come  back  with  us  and  take 
dinner — if  the  weather  permits,  out  on  our  roof. 
Mrs.  Berle  will  be  at  the  dinner,  though  she  doesn't 
care  to  go  with  us  to  see  the  pictures.  We  may 
count  upon  you,  may  we  not  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly  ;  that  will  be  delightful,"  said 
Mrs.  Hart. 

"  Then  we  will  call  for  you  at  about  three 
o'clock  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Good-night." 

His  hand  was  hot  and  trembling  as  it  clasped 
Mrs.  Lehmyl's  ;  a  state  of  things  which  she,  how 
ever,  did  not  appear  to  notice.  She  gazed  calmly 
into  his  eyes,  and  returned  a  quiet  good-night.  He 
stood  a  long  while  in  the  doorway  of  his  house, 
looking  across  at  No.  46.  He  saw  the  light 
quenched  in  the  parlor,  and  other  lights  break  out 
in  the  floors  above.  Then  these  in  their  turn  were 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPKING."     115 

extinguished  ;  and  he  knew  that  the  occupants 
were  on  their  way  to  the  land  of  Nod.  "  Good 
angels  guard  her  slumbers,"  he  said,  half  aloud, 
and  climbed  the  stairs  that  led  to  his  own  bed 
chamber.  There  he  lay  awake  hour  after  hour. 
He  could  hear  the  waters  of  the  river  lapping  the 
shore,  and  discern  the  street  lamps  gleaming  like 
stars  along  the  opposite  embankment.  Now  and 
again  a  tug-boat  puffed  importantly  up  stream — a 
steam  whistle  shrieked— a  schooner  glided  mysteri 
ously  past.  I  don't  know  how  many  times  he  con 
fessed  to  his  pillow, "  I  love  her— I  love  her— I  love 
her  !  " 

The  next  day— Saturday — he  passed  in  a  fever  of 
impatience.  It  seemed  as  though  to-morrow  never 
would  arrive.  At  night  he  scarcely  slept  two  hours. 
And  on  Sunday  morning  he  was  up  by  six  o'clock. 
Then,  how  the  hours  and  minutes  did  prolong  them 
selves,  until  the  hands  of  his  watch  marked  three  ! 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ? "  Hetzel  asked 
more  than  once.  "  Why  are  you  so  restless  ?  You 
roam  around  like  a  cat  who  has  lost  her  kittens.  Any 
thing  worrying  you  ?  Feeling  unwell  ?  Or  what  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  little  nervous— guess  I  drank  more 
coffee  for  breakfast  than  was  good  for  me,"  he 
replied. 

He  tried  to  read.  The  print  blurred  before  his 
eyes.  He  tried  to  write  a  letter.  He  proceeded 
famously  thus  far  :  "New  York,  May  24,  1884. — 
My  dearest  mother.—"  But  at  this  point  his  pen 
stuck,  Strive  as  he  might,  he  could  get  no  further. 


n6  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

He  tore  the  paper  up,  in  a  pet.  He  smoked  thrice 
his  usual  allowance  of  tobacco.  Every  other  min 
ute  he  had  out  his  watch.  He  half  believed  that 
Time  had  slackened  its  pace  for  the  especial  pur 
pose  of  adding  fuel  to  the  fires  that  were  burning 
in  his  breast.  Such  is  the  preposterous  egotism  of 
a  man  in  love. 

When  at  length  the  clock  struck  half  after  two, 
his  pulse  quickened.  This  last  half  hour  was  as 
long  as  the  entire  forepart  of  the  day  had  been. 
With  each  moment,  his  agitation  increased.  Finally 
he  and  Hetzel  crossed  the  street.  He  had  to  bite  his 
lips  and  press  his  finger-nails  deep  into  the  flesh  of 
his  hands,  in  order  to  command  a  tolerably  self- 
possessed  exterior. 

Arthur  says  that  he  remembers  the  rest  of  that 
Sunday  as  one  remembers  a  bewildering  dream. 
He  remembers,  to  begin  with,  how  Mrs.  Lehmyl  met 
him  in  Mrs.  Hart's  drawing-room,  and  gave  him  a 
warm,  soft  hand,  and  spoke  a  few  pleasant  words  of 
welcome.  He  remembers  how  his  heart  fluttered, 
and  how  he  had  to  catch  for  breath,  as  he  gazed 
into  her  unfathomable  eyes,  and  inhaled  that  dain 
tiest  of  perfumes  which  clung  to  her  apparel.  He 
remembers  how  he  marched  at  her  side  through 
Fiftieth  Street  to  Madison  Avenue,  in  a  state  of 
delirious  intoxication,  and  how  they  mounted  a  celes 
tial  chariot — Hetzel  says  it  was  a  Madison  Avenue 
horse  car — in  which  he  sat  next  to  her,  and  heard 
her  voice  mingle  with  the  tinkling  of  silver  bells, 
like  a  strain  of  heavenly  music.  He  remembers 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING"       n? 

how  they  sauntered  through  the  galleries,  chatting 
together  about— oddly  enough,  he  can  not  remem 
ber  what.     Oddly  enough,  also,  he  can  not  remem 
ber  the  pictures  that  they  looked  at.     He  can  re 
member  only  "  the  angelic  radiance  of  her  face  and 
the  wonderful  witchery  of  her  presence."     Then 
he  remembers  how    they    walked   home  together 
through  the  Park,  green  and  fragrant  in  the  gentle 
May  weather,  and  took  places  side  by  side  at  the 
table  on  the  roof.      "  What  is  strangest,"  he  says, 
"is  this,  that  I  do  not  remember  any  thing  at  all 
about  the  other  people  who  were  present — Hetzel 
and  Mrs.  Berle  and  Mrs.  Hart.     As  I  look  back,  it 
seems  as  though  she  and  I   had  been  alone  with 
each  other  the  whole  time."     ("  But  we  were  there, 
nevertheless,"  Hetzel  assures  me  ;    "  and  one  of 
us  enjoyed  hugely  witnessing    his  young  friend's^ 
infatuation.     It  was  delightful  to  see  the  big,  stal 
wart,  imperious  Arthur  Ripley,  helpless  as  a  baby 
in  the  power  of  that  little  woman.     One  not  well 
acquainted  with  him  might  not  have  perceived  his 
condition  ;  but  to  me  it  was  as  plain  as  the  nose  on 
his  face.")—"  There  was  a  full  moon  that  evening," 
Arthur  continues,  "  and  I  wish  you  could  have  seen 
her  eyes  in  the  moonlight.     I  kept  thinking  of  the 
old  song, 

1  In  thy  dark  eyes  splendor, 
Where  the  warm  light  loves  to  dwell.' 

I  dare   say    you'll  think    me    sentimental,  but  I 
can't  help  it.     The  fact  is  that  those  eyes  of  hers 


n  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

glowed  with  all  the  tenderness  and  pathos  and  mys 
tery  of  a  martyr's.  Pale,  ethereal  fires  burned  deep 
down  in  them,  and  showed  where  her  soul  dwelt. 
They  haunted  me  for  days  afterward.  Days  ?  No 
— months.  They  haunt  me  now.  My  heart  thrills 
at  this  moment,  thinking  of  them,  just  as  it  did 
then,  when  I  was  looking  into  them.  1  tell  you  it 
hurt  here  " — thumping  his  chest — "  when  I  had  to 
part  with  her.  It  was  like — yes,  sir  ;  you  needn't 
smile — it  was  like  having  my  heart  wrenched  out. 
My  senses  were  in  confusion.  I  walked  up  and 
down  my  floor  pretty  much  all  night.  You  never 
saw  such  a  wretched  fellow.  At  least  I  fancied  I 
was  wretched.  The  thought  of  how  hopeless  my 
case  was — of  how  unlikely  it  was  that  she  would 
ever  care  a  farthing  for  me — drove  me  about  fran 
tic.  All  the  same,  I  wouldn't  have  exchanged  that 
wretchedness  for  all  the  other  treasures  of  the 
world."  In  this  exaggerated  vein,  he  would  gladly 
babble  on  for  the  next  twenty  pages  ;  but  to  what 
profit,  since  it  is  already  clear  that  he  was  head- 
over-ears  in  love  ? 

Of  course  Arthur  had  no  idea  of  making  a  dec 
laration.  That  she  should  cherish  for  him  a  feel 
ing  at  all  of  the  nature  of  his  for  her,  seemed  the 
most  improbable  of  contingencies.  So  long  as  he 
could  retain  the  privilege  of  seeing  her  frequently, 
he  would  be  contented  ;  he  would  not  run  the  risk 
of  having  it  withdrawn  by  revealing  to  her  a  con 
dition  of  affairs  which,  very  likely,  she  would  not 
sanction.  His  supremest  aspiration,  he  derived  a 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING."      1IQ 

certain  dismal  satisfaction  from  fancying,  would  be 
realized  if  he  could  in  some  way  become  useful  and 
helpful  to  her,  no  matter  after  how  lowly  a  fashion. 
Henceforward  he  spent  at  least  one  evening  a  week 
in  her  company.  'She  never  received  him  alone; 
but  Mrs.  Hart's  presence  was  not  objectionable, 
because  she  had  the  sensible  custom  of  knitting  in 
silence,  and  leaving  the  two  younger  folks  to  do 
the  talking.  Their  talk  was  generally  about  music 
and  literature  and  other  edifying  themes  ;  rarely 
about  matters  personal.  Arthur  got  pretty  well 
acquainted  with  Mrs.  Lehmyl's  views  and  tastes 
and  habits  of  thought  ;  but  when  he  stopped  to 
reckon  up  how  much  he  had  gathered  concerning 
herself,  her  family  connections,  her  life  in  the  past,  he 
acknowledged  that  it  could  all  be  represented  by  a 
solitary  nought.  Not  that  she  was  conspicuously 
reserved  with  him.  She  made  it  unmistakably  evi 
dent  that  she  liked  him  cordially.  Only,  the  pro 
nouns,  I  and  thou,  played  a  decidedly  minor  part 
in  her  ordinary  conversation. 

He  experienced  all  the  pains  and  pleasures 
of  first  love,  and  all  the  strange  hallucinations  that 
it  produces.  The  man  who  looks  at  the  world 
through  a  lover's  eyes,  is  as  badly  off  as  he  who 
looks  at  it  through  a  distorting  lens — objects  are 
thrown  out  of  their  proper  relations  ;  proportion 
and  perspective  go  mad  ;  big  things  become  little, 
and  vice  versa.  Especially  is  it  remarkable  how 
completely  his  notions  of  time  will  get  perverted. 
For  instance,  the  hours  flew  by  with  a  rapidity 


120  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

positively   astounding   when    Arthur  was   in  Mrs. 
Lehmyl's  presence.     He  would  sit   down  opposite 
her  at  eight  o'clock  ;  they  would    converse  for  a 
few  moments  ;  she  would  sing  a  song  or  two  ;  and 
then,   to  his  unutterable    stupefaction,    the   clock 
would  strike  eleven  !  On   the  other  hand,   when   he 
was  away  from  her,  time  lagged  in  an  equally   per 
plexing  manner.     He   and    Hetzel,    to    illustrate, 
would  finish  their  dinner  at  half  past  seven— only 
a  half  hour  before  he  would  be  at  liberty  to  cross 
the  street.     But  that   half  hour  !  It  stretched   out 
like   an    eternity,    beyond    the    reach    of  Arthur's 
imagination.     Life  had   changed  to  a  dream  or  to  a 
delirium— it  would  be  hard  to  say  which.     The  laws 
of  cause    and  effect  had  ceased  to  operate.     The 
universe  had  lost  its  equilibrium.     Arthur's   heart 
would  swing  from  hot  to  cold,  from  cold  to    hot, 
without    a    pretense    of    physiological    rhyme    or 
reason.     He    became    moody  and  capricious.     A 
fiber  in  his  composition,  the  existence  of  which  he 
had  never  hitherto  suspected,  acquired  an  alarming 
prominence.     That    ,was     an     almost     womanish 
sensitiveness.     It  was  as  if  he  had  been  stripped  of 
his  armor.     Small  things,  trifling  events,  that  had 
in   the   past   left   him  entirely  unimpressed,    now 
smote   his  consciousness    like   sharpened    arrows. 
Sights  of  distress  in  the  streets,  stories  of  suffering 
in    the    newspapers,  moved  him  keenly  and    pro 
foundly.     He   had  been   reading    Wilhelm  Meister. 
He  could  not  finish  it.     The  emotions  it  occasioned 
him  were  poignant  enough  to  border  upon  physical 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING"       121 

pain.  The  long  and  short  of  it  is  that  Love  had 
turned  his  rose-tinted  calcium  light  upon  the  world 
in  which  Arthur  moved,  and  so  made  visible  a 
myriad  beauties  and  blemishes  that  had  lain  hidden 
in  the  darkness  heretofore.  Among  other  things 
that  Arthur  remarked  as  curious,  was  the  frequency 
with  which  he  saw  her  name,  Lehmyl,  or  other 
names  resembling  it,  Lemyhl,  Lehmil,  etc.,  on 
sign-boards,  as  he  was  being  whirled  through  the 
streets  on  the  elevated  railway.  He  was  sure  that 
he  had  never  seen  it  or  heard  it  till  she  had  come 
to  dwell  in  Beekman  Place.  Now  he  was  seeing  it 
all  the  time.  He  was  disposed  to  be  somewhat 
superstitious  anent  this  circumstance,  to  regard  it 
as  an  omen  of  some  sort — but  whether  for  good  or 
evil,  he  could  not  tell.  Of  course  its  explanation 
was  simple  enough.  With  the  name  uppermost  in 
his  mind,  it  was  natural  that  his  attention  should  be 
caught  by  it  wherever  it  occurred  ;  whereas 
formerly,  before  he  had  known  her,  it  was  one  of  a 
hundred  names  that  he  had  passed  unnoticed 
every  day.  And  yet,  emerging  from  a  brown  study 
of  which  she  had  been  the  subject,  it  was  a  little 
startling  to  look  out  of  the  window,  and  find 
Lehmyl  staring  him  in  the  face. 

Now  and  then,  if  the  weather  was  fine,  he  would 
go  up-town  early  and  accompany  her  for  a  walk  in 
Central  Park.  Occasionally  he  would  tuck  a  book 
into  his  pocket,  so  that  when  they  sat  down  to  rest 
he  could  read  aloud  to  her.  One  day  the  book  of 
his  selection  chanced  to  be  a  volume  of  Nathaniel 


i22  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Hawthorne's  shorter  tales.  They  had  appropriated 
unto  themselves  a  bench  in  a  secluded  alley  ;  and 
now  Arthur  opened  to  "  The  Snow  Image." 

But  before  he  had  proceeded  beyond  the  second 
sentence,  Mrs.  Lehmyl  stopped  him. 

"  Oh,  please — please  don't  read  that,"  she  cried, 
in  a  sharp,  startled  tone. 

Arthur  looked  up.  He  saw  that  her  face  had 
turned  deathly  pale,  that  her  lips  were  quivering, 
and  that  her  eyes  had  moistened.  Thrusting  the 
book  into  his  pocket,  he  stammered  out  a  few  hasty 
words  of  anxiety.  She  was  not  ill  ? 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  "  not  ill.  Only,  when  you 
began  to  read  that  story — when  I  realized  what  it 
!  was  that  you  were  reading — I — it — it  recalled  dis 
agreeable  memories.  But — shall  we  walk  on  ?  " 

She  was  silent  or  monosyllabic,  and  her  face 
wore  a  grave  expression,  all  the  rest  of  their  time 
together.  At  the  door  of  her  house  she  gave  him 
her  hand,  and  looked  straight  into  his  eyes,  and 
said,  "  You  must  forgive  me  if  I  have  spoiled  your 
afternoon.  I  could  not  help  it.  You  know  how  it 
is-,  when  one  is  happy — very  happy — to  be  reminded 
suddenly  of  things  one  would  like  to  forget." 

Arthur's  heart  went  out  to  her  in  a  mighty  bound. 
"When  one  is  happy — very  happy  !  "  The  phrase 
echoed  like  a  peal  of  gala  bells  in  his  ears.  He  had 
a  hard  struggle  to  keep  from  flinging  himself  at  her 
feet  there  in  the  open  street.  But  all  his  love 
burned  in  the  glance  he  gave  her — an  intense, 
radiant  glance,  which  she  met  with  one  that  threw 


"A  NOTHING  STARTS  THE  SPRING"     123 

his  soul  into  a  transport.  She  knew  now  that  he 
loved  her  !  There  could  be  no  doubt  about  that. 
And,  since  her  eyes  did  not  quail  before  his — since 
she  had  sustained  unflinchingly  the  gaze  which, 
more  eloquently  than  any  words,  told  her  of  the 
passion  that  was  consuming  him — might  he  not 
conclude — ?  Ah,  no  ;  he  would  trust  himself  to 
conclude  nothing  till  he  had  spoken  with  her  by 
word  of  mouth. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said. 

"  May — may  I  call  upon  you  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  relinquished  her  hand,    which  he  had   been 
clinging  to  all  this  time,  and  went  his  way. 

"  When  one  is  happy — very  happy,"  he  repeated 
again    and    again.     "  So    she    was     happy — very 
happy  ! — until  I  opened  that  ill-fated  book.     What  - 
can  the  associations  be  that  darkened  her  mood  so  L> 
abruptly  ?     But  —to-morrow  ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  THE    WOMAN    WHO    HESITATES." 

RIPLEY,  attorney,  New  York  : 
"  Draft  accepted.     Begin  immediately. 

"  ULRICH." 

Such  was  the  cable  dispatch  that  Arthur  got  a 
fortnight  after  he  had  mailed  his  letter  to  Counsel 
or  Ulrich  of  Vienna.  A  fortnight  later  still,  the 
post  brought  him  an  epistle  to  the  same  effect. 
Then  ensued  four  weeks  of  silence.  During  these 
four  weeks  one  question  had  received  a  good 
share  of  his  attention.  The  substance  and  the 
solution  of  it,  may  be  gathered  from  the  following 
conversation  held  between  him  and  Peixada. 

Arthur  said,  "  Suppose  the  residence  of  your 
sister-in-law  to  be  discovered  :  what  next  ?  Sup. 
pose  we  find  that  she  is  living  in  Europe  :  how 
can  we  induce  her  to  return  hither  and  render 
herself  liable  to  the  jurisdiction  of  our  courts  ?  Or 
suppose  even  that  she  should  turn  out  to  be  estab 
lished  here  in  New  York  :  what's  to  prevent  her 
from  packing  her  trunks  and  taking  French  leave 
the  day  after  citations  to  attend  the  probate  of  her 
husband's  will  are  served  upon  her  ?  In  other 


"  THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES."        125 

words,  how  are  we  to  compel  her  to  stand  and 
deliver  ?  Ignorant  as  we  are  of  the  nature  and 
location  of  her  properties,  we  can't  attach  them 
in  the  regular  way." 

Peixada  said,  "  Hum !  That's  so.  I  hadn't 
thought  of  that.  That's  a  pretty  serious  question." 

"  At  first,"  said  Arthur,  "  it  struck  me  as  more 
than  serious — as  fatal.  But  there's  a  way  out  of  it 
— the  neatest  and  simplest  way  you  can  imagine." 

"  Ah,"  sighed  Peixada,  with  manifest  relief. 

"  Now  see,"  continued  Arthur.  "  Mrs.  Peixada 
shot  her  husband — was  indicted — tried — acquitted' 
— yes  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure." 

"  But  at  the  same  time  she  also  took  the  life  of  a 
man  named  Edward  Bolen,  her  husband's  coach 
man — eh  ? " 

"  She  did— certainly." 

11  Was  she  indicted  for  his  murder  as  well  as  for 
the  other  ?  " 

"  She  was  indicted,  yes,  but " 

"But  never  arraigned  for  trial.  Then  the 
indictment  is  still  in  force  against  her?" 

"  I   suppose  it  is — unless  the  statute  of  limita- 

"  The  statute  of  limitations  does  not  apply  after 
an  indictment  has  once  been  found." 

"  Oh." 

"  Well,  I  was  thinking  the  matter  over  the 
other  day — confronting  that  difficulty  I  have  men 
tioned,  and  wondering  how  the  mischief  it  was  to 


126  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

be  surmounted — when  it  occurred  to  me  that  it 
might  be  possible  to  interest  the  authorities  in  our 
behalf,  and  so  get  Mrs.  Peixada  under  lock  and 
key." 

"  Splendid  !  " 

"  I  went  over  to  the  district-attorney's  office, 
and  saw  Mr.  Romer,  the  senior  assistant,  who 
happens  to  be  a  good  friend  of  mine,  and  told 
him  the  sum  and  substance  of  our  case.  Then  I 
asked  him  whether  for  the  sake  of  justice  he 
wouldn't  lend  us  the  machinery  of  the  law— that 
is,  upon  our  rinding  out  her  whereabouts,  cause 
her  extradition  and  imprisonment  under  the  in 
dictment  /'//  re  Bolen.  I  promised  that  you  would 
assume  the  entire  expense." 

"  And  he  replied  ?  " 

"  That  it  was  a  rather  irregular  proposition,  but 
that  he  would  think  it  over  and  let  me  know  his 
conclusion." 

"  Well,  have  you  heard  from  him  since  ?  " 

"  Yes — yesterday  morning  I  received  a  note, 
asking  me  to  call  at  his  office.  When  I  got  there, 
this  is  what  he  said.  He  said  that  he  had  read  the 
indictment,  and  consulted  his  chief,  Mr.  Orson, 
and  pondered  the  matter  pretty  thoroughly. 
Extraordinary  as  the  proceeding  would  be,  he  had 
decided  "to  do  as  I  wished.  '  Because,'  he  added, 
1  there's  a  mighty  strong  case  against  the  woman, 
and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  would  be  worth  our 
while  to  try  her.  At  any  rate,  if  you  can  set  us  on 
her  track,  we'll  arrest  her  and  take  our  chances, 


"  THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES"        127 

We've  made  quite  a  point,  you  know,  of  unearthing 
indictments  that  our  predecessors  had  pigeon 
holed  ;  and  more  than  once  we've  secured  a  convic 
tion.  It  doesn't  follow  that  because  the  jury  in 
the  Peixada  case  stultified  themselves,  another 
jury  will.  So,  you  go  ahead  with  your  inquiries  ; 
and  when  she's  firmly  pinned  down,  we'll  take  her 
in  custody.  Then,  after  you've  recovered  your 
money,  we  can  step  in  and  do  our  best  to  send  her 
up  to  Sing  Sing.' — I  declare,  I  was  half  sorry  to 
have  prepared  new  troubles  for  the  poor  creature  ; 
but,  you  see,  our  interests  are  now  perfectly 
protected." 

"  A  brilliant  stroke  !  "  cried  Peixada.  "  Then 
we  shall  not  merely  rescue  my  brother's  property, 
but,  indirectly  at  least,  we  shall  avenge  his  death  ! 
I  am  delighted.  Now  we  must  redouble  our  efforts 
to  ferret  her  out." 

"  Precisely.  And  that  brings  me  to  another 
point.  I  have  had  a  long  letter — sixteen  solid  pages 
— from  Ulrich,  the  Austrian  lawyer.  He  has  traced 
her  from  Vienna  to  Paris,  from  Paris  to  -London. 
He's  in  London  now,  working  up  his  clew.  The 
last  news  of  her  dates  back  to  May,  1882.  On  the 
23d  of  that  month  she  left  the  hotel  she  had  been 
stopping  at  in  London,  and  went — Ulrich  is  trying 
to  discover  where.  I  think  our  best  course  now 
will  be  to  retain  an  English  solicitor,  and  let  him 
carry  the  matter  on  from  the  point  Ulrich  has 
reached.  With  your  approval,  I  shall  cable  Ulrich 
to  put  the  affair  into  the  hands  of  Mr,  Reginald 


128  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Graham,  a  London  attorney  in  whom  I  have  the 
utmost  confidence.     What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you're  right.  No  doubt  about  that.  Mean 
time,  here." — Peixada  handed  his  legal  adviser  a 
check  for  one  hundred  dollars.  "  This  is  to  keep 
up  your  spirits,"  he  said. 

The  above  conference  had  taken  place  on  the 
forenoon  of  Wednesday,  the  25th  of  June.  It  was 
on  that  afternoon  that  Arthur  started  to  read  "  The 
Snow  Image"  to  Mrs.  Lehmyl. 

Next  day,  after  an  eternity  of  impatience,  he 
rang  her  bell. 

"  Mrs.  Lehmyl,"  said  the  servant,  "  is  sick  in  her 
room  with  a  headache." 

"What?"  cried  Arthur,  and  stood  still,  gaping 
for  dismay. 

"Yes,"  repeated  Bridget  ;  "sick  in  her  room." 

"  Oh,  but  she  will  receive  me.  I  call  by  appoint 
ment.  Please  tell  her  that  I  am  here." 

"  She  said  that  she  could  receive  no  one  ;  but  if 
you'll  step  into  the  parlor,  I'll  speak  to  Mrs.  Hart." 

Mrs.  Hart  appeared  and  corroborated  the  maid's 
statement.  A  big  lump  gathered  in  Arthur's  throat. 
He  had  looked  forward  so  eagerly  to  this  moment 
— had  hoped  so  much  from  it — and  it  had  been 
such  a  long  time  coming — that  now  to  have  it  slip 
away  unused,  like  this — the  disappointment  was 
bitter.  He  felt  utterly  miserable  and  dejected.  As 
he  dragged  himself  down  the  stoop — he  had  sprung 
up  it,  two  steps  at  a  stride,  a  moment  since — he 


"THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES."        129 

noticed  a  group  of  urchins,  standing  on  the  curb 
stone  and  grinning  from  ear  to  ear.  He  fancied 
that  they  had  guessed  his  secret,  and  were  laughing 
at  his  discomfiture  ;  if  he  had  obeyed  his  impulse, 
he  would  have  wrung  their  necks  on  the  spot.  He 
crossed  the  street,  locked  himself  in  his  room,  and 
surrendered  unresistingly  to  the  blue  devils. 

These  vivacious  sprites  played  fast  and  loose  with 
the  poor  boy's  imagination.  They  conjured  up 
before  him  a  multitude  of  unlikely  catastrophes. 
They  persuaded  him  that  his  case  was  worse  than 
hopeless.  Mrs.  Lehmyl  cared  not  a  fig  for  him. 
Why,  forsooth,  should  she  ?  Probably  he  had  a 
successful  rival.  That  a  woman  such  as  she  should 
love  an  insignificant  young  fellow  like  himself — the 
bare  idea  was  preposterous.  He  was  to  blame  for 
having  allowed  the  flower  of  hope  to  take  root  in  his 
bosom.  He  laughed  bitterly,  and  wondered  how  he 
had  contrived  to  deceive  himself  even  for  a  moment. 
It  was  trebly  absurd  that  she  should  love  him  after  so 
brief  and  so  superficial  an  acquaintance.  Life  wasn't 
worth  living  ;  and,  but  for  his  mother  and  Hetzel, 
he  would  put  an  end  to  himself  forthwith.  Yet,  the 
next  instant  he  was  recalling  the  Yes  "  that  she 
had  spoken  yesterday,  in  rehouse  to  his  "  May  I 
call  to-morrow  ? "  and  the  reaiiess  glance  with 
which  she  had  met  his  eyes.  'Ah,"'  he  cries,  "it 
set  my  blood  afire.  It  dazzled  me  with  visions  of 
impossible  joy.  I  could  almost  hear  her  murmur — 
oh,  so  softly—'  I  love  you.  Arthur  ! '  You  may 
guess  the  effect  that  fancy  had  upon  me."  It  is 


13°  MRS.   PEIXADA. 

significant  that  not  once  did  he  pity  her  for  her 
headache.  He  took  for  granted  that  it  was  merely 
a  subterfuge  for  refusing  to  receive  him. 
But  her  motive  for  refusing  to  see  him  !  There 
was  the  rub  !  If  he  could  only  have  divined  it — 
known  it  to  a  certainty — then  his  suspense  would 
have  been  less  of  an  agony,  then  his  mind  could 
have  borrowed  some  repose,  though  perhaps  the 
repose  of  despair. 

Well,  he  got  through  the  night  after  a  fashion.  A 
streak  of  cold,  gray  light  lay  along  the  easte-rn 
horizon,  and  the  river  had  put  off  the  color  of  ink 
for  the  color  of  lead,  before  he  fell  asleep.  His 
sleep  was  troubled.  A  nightmare  played  frightful 
antics  upon  his  breast.  It  was  broad  day  when  he 
awoke.  The  river  sparkled  gayly  in  the  sunlight, 
the  sky  shimmered  with  warmth,  the  sparrows  out 
side  quarreled  vociferously.  A  brief  glow  of  cheer 
fulness  was  the  result.  But  memdry  speedily 
asserted  itself.  Heartsick  and  weary  he  began  his 
toilet.  "  What  had  I  to  look  forward  to  ?  "  he 
demands.  He  climbed  the  staircase,  and  entered 
the  breakfast  room.  Hetzel  sat  near  the  window, 
reading  a  newspaper.  Hetzel  grunted  forth  a  gruff 
good-morning,  without  looking  up.  I  doubt  how 
ever,  whether  Arthur  knew  that  Hetzel  was  there 
at  all.  For,  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  his  eye 
was  caught  by  something  white  lying  upon  his 
plate.  He  can't  tell  why — but  he  guessed  at  once 
that  it  was  a  note  from  Mrs.  Lehmyl.  His  lover's 
instinct  scented  the  truth  from  afar. 


' '  THE   WO  MA  N   WHO  HE  SI  TA  7'£S."        131 

He  snatched  the  letter  up  eagerly.  But  he 
delayed  about  opening  it.  He  scrutinized  the 
direction — written  in  a  frank,  firm,  woman's  hand. 
The  paper  exhaled  never  so  faint  a  perfume.  Still 
he  did  not  open  it.  He  was  afraid.  He  would 
wait  till  his  agitation  had  subsided  a  little.  He  could 
hear  his  heart  going  thump,  thump,  thump,  like  a 
hammer  against  his  side.  He  had  difficulty  with 
his  breath.  Then  a  dreadful  possibility  loomed  up 
before  him  !  What — what  if  it  should  not  be  from 
her  after  all !  This  thought  endowed  him  with  the 
courage  of  desperation.  He  tore  the  missive 
open. 

He  was  standing  there,  one  hand  grasping  the 
back  of  his  chair,  the  other  holding  the  letter  to  his 
eyes,  when  Hetzel,  throwing  his  newspaper  aside, 
got  up,  turned  about  the  room,  then  abruptly  came 
to  a  halt,  facing  Arthur. 

"  Mercy  upon  me,  man,"  cried  Hetzel,  "  what 
has  happened  ?  Cheeks  burning,  fingers  trembling  ! 
No  bad  news  ?  Speak — quickly." 

But  Arthur  did  not  speak. 

Hetzel  went  on  :  "  I've  noticed  lately,  there's 
been  something  wrong  with  you.  You're  nervous, 
restless,  out  of  kilter.  Is  there  a  woman  in  the 
case  ?  Is  your  feeling  for  our  neighbor  some 
thing  more  than  a  passing  fancy  ?  Are  you  taking 
her  seriously?  Or,  are  you  simply  run  down— j- 
in  need  of  rest  and  change  ?  Why  not  make  a  trip 
up  to  Oidbridge,  and  see  your  mother  ? " 

By  the  time  Hetzel  had  finished  speaking,  Arthur 


132  MRS.  PEIXADA, 

had   folded  his   letter  and  stowed   it  away  in  his 
pocket. 

"Eh?  What  were  you  saying?"  he  inquired, 
with  a  blank  look. 

"  Oh,  I  was  saying  that  breakfast  is  getting  cold  ; 
coffee  spoiling,  biscuit  drying  up — whatever  you 
choose.  Letter  from  home  ?" 

"  Home  ?     No  ;  not  from  home,"  said  Arthur. 

"Well,  draw  up,  anyhow.  Is— is — By  Jove, 
what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  Where  are  you  now  ? 
Why  don't  you  pay  attention  when  I  speak  ?  What 
has  come  over  you  the  last  week  or  two  ?  You're 
worrying  me  to  death.  Out  with  it  !  No  secrets 
from  the  head  of  the  house." 

"  I  have  no  secrets,"  Arthur  answered,  meekly  ; 
«  only — only,  if  you  must  know  it,  I'm — "  No 
doubt  he  was  on  the  point  of  making  a  full  con 
fession.  He  restrained  himself,  however  ;  added, 
"  There  !  I  won't  talk  about  it ;  "  applied  himself 
to  his  knife  and  fork,  and  preserved  a  dismal 
silence  till  the  end  of  the  meal.  He  went  away 
as  soon  as  ordinary  courtesy  would  warrant. 

No  sooner  had  he  closed  the  door  behind  him, 
than  his  hand  made  a  dive  into  his  pocket,  and 
brought  out  Mrs.  Lehmyl's  letter.  He  read  it 
through  for  perhaps  the  twentieth  time.  It  ran  thus  : 

"  46  BEEKMAN  PLACE, 
"  Thursday  evening. 

"  DEAR  MR.  RIPLEY  -.—After  a  sleepless  night, 
my  head  is  aching  cruelly.  That  is  why  I  was  un 
able  to  receive  you.  But,  since  you  had  told  me 


"  THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES:'       133 

that  you  were  coming,  I  feel  that  I  must  write  this 
note  to  explain  and  to  apologize.  I  should  have 
sent  you  word  not  to  come,  except  that  until  now 
I  have  been  too  ill  to  use  my  eyes.  The  only  help 
for  me  when  I  have  a  headache  like  this,  is  solitary 
confinement  in  a  darkened  room.  I  have  braved 
the  gaslight  for  an  instant,  to  write  you  this  note, 
and  already  I  am  suffering  the  consequences.  But 
I  felt  that  I  really  owed  you  my  excuses.  You  will 
accept  them  in  a  lenient  spirit,  will  you  not? 

"  Sincerely  yours, 
"  RUTH  LEHMYL." 

I  think  Arthur's  first  sentiment  on  reading  this 
communication,  had  been  one  of  disappointment. 
It  was  just  such  an  apology  as  she  might  have 
written  to  anybody  else  under  similar  circumstances. 
He  had  nerved  himself,  he  thought,  for  the  worst 
before  breaking  the  seal — for  a  decree  forbidding 
him  future  admittance  to  her  presence,  for  an  an 
nouncement  of  her  betrothal  to  another  man — for 
what  not.  But  a  quite  colorless,  polite,  and  ami 
able  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  had  not  contem 
plated.  It  produced  the  effect  of  a  wet  blanket. 
From  the  high  and  mighty  heroic  mood  in  which  he 
had  torn  it  open,  to  the  unimpassioned  sentences 
in  which  it  was  couched,  was  too  rapid  a  transition, 
too  abrupt  a  plunge  from  hot  to  cold,  an  anti-cli 
max  equally  unexpected  and  depressing. 

But  after  a  second  perusal — and  a  second  perusal 
followed  immediately  upon  the  first — his  pulse 
quickened.  With  a  lover's  swift  faculty  for  seizing 


134  MKS.   PEIXADA. 

hold  of  and  interpreting  trifles  light  as  air,  he  dis 
cerned  what  he  believed  to  be  encouraging  tokens. 
Under  what  obligation  had  Mrs.  Lehmyl  been  to 
write  to  him  so  promptly  ?  At  the  cost  of  severe 
pain,  she  had  hastened  to  make  her  excuses  for  a 
thing  that  there  was  not  really  the  least  hurry 
about.  If  she  were  quite  indifferent  to  him,  would 
she  not  have  deferred  writing  until  her  headache 
had  passed  off?  To  be  sure,  it  was  just  such  a 
note  as  she  might  have  written  to  Brown,  Jones,  or 
Robinson  ;  but  would  she  have  "  braved  the  gas 
light  "  and  "  suffered  the  consequences  "  for  Brown, 
Jones,  or  Robinson  ?  Obviously,  she  had  felt  a 
strong  desire  to  set  herself  right  with  him  ;  the 
recognition  of  which  fact  afforded  Arthur  no  end 
of  pleasure. 

By  the  time  he  had  committed  Mrs.  Lehmyl's 
note  to  memory,  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  recover  his 
wonted  buoyancy  of  spirits. 

Of  course  he  rang  her  door-bell  in  the  afternoon. 
"  How  is  Mrs.  Lehmyl  to-day  ?"   he  inquired  of 
the  maid.     **  I  hope  her  headache  is  better." 

"  Oh,  she's  all  well  again  to-day — just  the  same 
as  ever,"  was  the  reply. 

An  idea  occurred  to  him.  He  had  intended 
merely  to  inform  himself  concerning  her  health, 
leave  the  bunch  of  flowers  he  held  in  his  right  hand, 
and  go  his  way.  But  if  she  was  up  and  about,  why 
not  ask  to  see  her  ? 

«  is — is  she  in  ?  "  he  questioned. 
"  Oh,  yes  ;    she's  in." 


"THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES.'       135 

"  Will  you  please  give  her  my  card,  then  ?  " 

He  walked  into  the  parlor. 

The  parlor  was  darkened — blinds  closed  to 
exclude  the  heat — and  intensely  still.  The  ticking 
of  the  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  was  the  only  inter 
ruption  of  the  silence,  save  when  at  intervals  the 
distant  roar  of  a  train  on  the  elevated  railway 
became  audible  for  a  moment. 

Mrs.  Lehmyl  entered,  and  gave  him  her  hand, 
and  looked  up  smiling  at  him,  all  without  a  word. 
She  wore  a  white  gown,  and  an  amber  necklace  and 
bracelet  ;  and  my  informant  says  that  she  had  "  a 
halo  of  sweetness  and  purity  all  around  her."  For 
a  trice  Arthur  was  tongue-tied. 

At  length,  "  I  have  brought  you  a  few  flowers," 
he  began. 

She  took  the  flowers,  and  buried  her  nose  in 
them,  and  thanked  their  donor,  and  pinned  one  of 
the  roses  at  her  breast. 

"  I  hope  you  are  quite  well  again,"  he  pursued. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "  quite  well." 

"  It  was  very  thoughtful  of  you  to  write  me  that 
letter — when  you  were  in  such  pain." 

"  I  owed  it  to  you.  I  had  promised  to  receive 
you.  It  would  have  been  unfair,  if  I  had  not 
written." 

"  I — I  was  quite  alarmed  about  you.  I  was 
afraid  your  headache  might — "  He  faltered. 

"  There  was  no  occasion  for  alarm.  I  am  used 
to  such  headaches.  I  expect  one  every  now  and 
then." 


136  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

«  But — do  you  know  ? — at  first  I  did  not  believe 
in  it — not  until  your  letter  confirmed  what  Mrs. 
Hart  and  the  servant  had  said." 

"Why?" 

"  I  thought  perhaps — perhaps  you  did  not  care 
to  see  me,  and  had  pleaded  a  headache  for  polite 
ness'  sake." 

"You  did  me  an  injustice." — A  pause. — •'  I  did 


care  to  see  you. 


A  longer  pause.  Arthur's  heart  was  beating  mad 
ly.  Well  it  might.  She  had -pronounced  the  last  sen 
tence  with  an  emphasis  calculated  to  move  a  man 
less  deeply  in  love  than  he. 

"  Do  you  mean  what  you  have  just  said  ?  "  he 
asked  presently.  His  voice  quivered. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  you  knew— I— I  suppose  you  knew 
what  it  was  I  wanted  to  say  to  you— what  it  was  I 
would  have  said,  if  I  had  been  admitted." 

"  Yes,  I  knew,"  she  answered,  in  almost  a 
whisper,  and  bowed  her  head. 

Arthur  sprang  toward  her  and  grasped  her  hand. 
"  You  knew — then,  you  know  that— that  I  love  you 
—Ruth  !  " 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  but  did  not  raise  her 
head.  He  waited  for  a  moment,  breathless  ;  then, 
"  Ah,  speak  to  me— won't  you  speak  to  me  ?  "  he 
begged,  piteously. 

She  raised  her  head  now,  and  gazed  into  his  eyes  ; 
but  her  gaze  was  not  one  of  gladness. 

"  Yes,  alas,  alas,  I  know  it,"  she  said,  very  slowly. 


"THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES"       137 

Arthur  started  back. 

"  Alas,  alas?"  he  repeated  after  her, 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  in  the  same  slow,  grave  way  ; 
"  it  is  very,  very  sad." 

"  Sad  ? "     His  eyes  were  full  of  mystification. 

"  I  mean  that  it  is  sad  that  you  should  care  for 
me.  If  I  had  only  foreseen  it — but  I  did  not.  You 
knew  so  little  of  me,  how  could  I  foresee  ?  But  on 
Wednesday — the  way  you  looked  at  me — oh,  forgive 
me.  I — I  never  meant  to  make  you  care  for  me." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Arthur,  shaking  his 
head. 

"  That  is  why  I  wanted  to  see  you.  After  what 
passed  on  Wednesday,  I  felt  that  it  was  best  for  us 
both  that  I  should  see  you  and  tell  you  what  a  mis 
take  you  had  made.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  you 
must  try  hard  to  forget  about  it.  It  would  be 
useless  and  cruel  for  me  to  pretend  not  to  have 
understood,  when  you  looked  at  me  so.  It  was 
best  that  we  should  meet  again,  and  that  I  should 
explain  it  to  you." 

'•  But  your  explanation  puts  me  in  the  dark." 

"  You  would  not  want  to  love  a  woman  unless 
there  was  hope  that  some  day  you  might  marry  her. 
Would  not  that  be  a  great  unhappiness  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  want.  I  should  love  you 
under  any  and  all  conditions." 

"  But  you  never,  never  can  marry  me." 

"I  will  not  believe  it  until — 

"  Wait.  Do  not  say  things  that  you  may  wish 
to  unsay  a  moment  hence.  You  never  can  marry 


J3  MKS.   PEIXADA. 

me,  for  one  sufficient  reason — because—  She 
hesitated. 

"  Because  ?"  There  was  panic  in  Arthur's  heart. 
Was  she  not  a  widow,  after  all  ? 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  bit  her  lip.  Her 
cheek  had  been  pale.  Now  a  hot  blush  suffused 
it.  With  an  air  of  summoning  her  utmost  strength, 
she  went  on,  "  You  never  can  marry  me,  because 
you  never  would  marry  me— never,  unless  I  should 
tell  you — something — something  about  my  life — 
my  life  in  the  past — which  I  can  never  tell— not 
even  to  you." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Arthur,  with  manifest  relief.  "  Is 
that  all  ?  " 

"  It  is  enough — it  is  final,  fatal." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  it  might  be  worse." 

There  befell  a  silence.  Arthur  was  mustering 
his  forces,  to  get  them  under  control..  He  dared 
not  speak  till  he  had  done  this.  At  last,  struggling 
hard  to  be  calm,  he  said,  "  Do  you  suppose  I  care 
any  thing  about  your  past  life  ?  Do  you  suppose 
that  my  love  for  you  is  so  mean  and  so  small  as 
that  ?  I  know  all  that  it  is  needful  for  me  to  know 
about  your  past.  I  knowjw/,  do  I  not  ?  I  know, 
then,  that  every  act,  every  thought,  every  breath 
of  your  life,  has  been  as  pure  and  as  beautiful  as 
you  are  yourself.  But  what  I  know  best,  and  what 
it  is  most  essential  for  me  to  know,  is  this,  Ruth, 
that  1  love  you.  I  love  you  !  I  can  not  see  that  what 
you  have  spoken  of  is  a  bar  to  our  marriage." 

"  Ah,  but    I — I  would  not  let  you  enter  blind- 


••  THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES."        139 

fold  into  a  union  which  some  time  you  might 
repent.  Should  I  be  worthy  of  your  love,  if  I 
would  ?  But,  what  is  worse,  were  I — were  I  to  tell 
you  this  thing— which  I  can  not  tell  you— then 
you— you  would  not  ask  me  to  marry  you.  Then 
you  would  not  love  me.  The  truth — the  truth 
which,  if  I  should  become  your  wife,  I  could  never 
share  with  you — which  would  remain  forever  a 
secret  kept  by  me  from  my  husband — it  is — you 
would  abhor  me  if  you  should  find  it  out.  If  you 
should  find  it  out  after  we  were  married — if  some 
body  should  come  to  you  and  tell  you — oh,  you 
would  hate  me.  It  is  far  more  dreadful  than  you 
can  fancy." 

«  NO— no  ;  for  I  will  fancy  the  worst,  and  still 
beg  of  you  to  become  my  wife.  If  I  loved  you  • 
less— if  i  did  not  know  you  so  well — the  hints  you 
utter  might  prompt  some  horrible  suspicion  in  my  i 
mind.  Will  you  take  it  as  a  proof  of  my  love,  that 
I  dare  assert  positively,  confidently,  this  ? — What 
ever  the  past  may  have  been,  so  far  as  you  were 
concerned  in  shaping  it,  it  was  good  beyond 
reproach.  Whatever  your  secret  may  be,  it  is  not 
a  secret  that  could  show  you  to  be  one  jot  or  tittle 
less  noble  than  I  know  you  to  be.  Whatever  the 
truth  you  speak  of  is,  it  is  a  truth  which,  if  it  were 
understood  in  its  entirety,  would  only  serve  to  shed 
new  luster  upon  the  whiteness  of  your  soul.  And 
should  I — should  I  by  accident  ever  find  it  out— 
and  should  its  form  seem,  as  you  have  said,  dread 
ful  to  me — why,  I  should  say  to  myself,  '  You  have 


140  AfRS.  ri-JXADA. 

not  pierced  its  substance?  You  do  not  understand 
it.  However  it  may  appear  to  you,  you  know  that 
your  wife's  part  in  it  was  the  part  of  a  good 
angel  from  first  to  last !  '—Now  do  you  think  L 
love  you  ?  " 

"  But  if— if  you    should  find  out  that  I  had  been 
guilty   of  sin — do  you  mean  to  say  that — that  you 
L   would  care  for  me  in  spite  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  say  that  I  love  you.  I  mean  to  say 
that  no  power  under  heaven  can  destroy  my  love 
of  you.  I  mean  to  say  that  no  power  under 
heaven  can  prevent  my  marrying  you,  if  you  love 
me.  I  mean  to  say  that  my  heart  and  soul — the 
\  inmost  life  of  me— are  already  married  to  you,  and 
that  they  will  remain  inseparably  bound  to  you— 
to  you! — until  I  die.  More  than  this  I  mean  to  say. 
You  speak  of  sin.  You  sin,  forsooth  !  Well,  talk 
of  sin,  if  you  like.  Tell  me  that  you  have  been 
guilty  of — of  what  you  will — of  the  blackest  crimes 
in  the  calendar.  I  will  not  believe  it.  I  will  not 
believe  that  you  were  answerable  for  it.  I  will  tell 
you  that  it  was  not  your  fault.  I  will  tell  you  that 
if  your  hand  has  ever  done  any  human  being  wrong, 
it  was  some  other  will  than  your  own  that  com 
pelled  it.  For  this  I  know — I  know  it  as  I  know 
that  fire  burns,  that  light  illuminates— I  know 
that  you,  the  true,  intrinsic  you,  have  always  been 
as  sweet  and  undefiled  as— as  the  breath  that 
escapes  now  from  your  lips.  There  are  some 
things  that  can  not  be — that  no  man  could  believe, 
though  he  beheld  them  with  his  open  eyes.  Can  a 


"  THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES:'        I41 

circle  be  square  ?  Can  black  be  white  ?  No  man, 
knowing  you  as  I  know  you,  could  believe  that 
you  in  your  soul  were  capable  of  sin." 

He  had  spoken  with  immense  fervor,  consuming 
her  the  while  with  his  eyes,  and  wrenching  the 
hand  he  held  until  it  must  have  ached  in  every 
bone.  She,  again  as  pale  as  death,  had  trembled 
under  his  fierce,  hot  utterance,  like  a  reed  in  the 
wind.  But  now  that  he  had  done,  she  seemed  to 
recover  herself.  She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his, 
and  moved  her  chair  away. 

"  Mr.  Ripley,"  she  began,  "  you  must  not  speak 
to  me  like  this.  It  was  not  to  hear  you  speak  like 
this  that  I  wished  to  see  you  to-day.  You  make  it 
very  hard  for  me  to  say  what  I  have  to  say — what  it 
was  hard  enough  to  say,  at  the  best.  But  I  must 
say  it,  and  you  must  listen  and  understand.  You 
have  not  understood  yet.  Now,  please  try  to." 

She  pressed  her  hand  to  her  throat,  and  swallowed 
convulsively.  It  was  evident  that  she  was  nerv 
ing  herself  to  the  performance  of  a  most  painful 
task.  Finally  she  went  on,"  I  have  told  you  frankly 
that  I  understood  the  other  day — understood 
what  you  meant  when  you  looked  at  me  that  way. 
After  you  were  gone,  I  thought  it  all  over — all  that 
I  had  learned.  I  thought  at  first  that  the  only 
thing  for  me  to  do  would  be  never  to  see  you  again 
— to  refuse  to  receive  you  when  you  called — to 
avoid  you  as  much  as  I  possibly  could.  That,  I 
thought,  would  be  the  best  thing  to  do.  But  then  I 
thought  further  about  it,  and  then  it  seemed  that 


1 42  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

that  would  not  be  right.     To  break  off  in  that  sud 
den  way  with  you,  and  not  to  explain  it,  would  be 
wrong  and  cruel.     So  I  put  aside  that  first  thought, 
and  said,  *  No,  I  will  not  refuse  to  receive  him.     I 
will  receive  him  just  as  before.     Only  I  will  act  in 
such  a  manner  toward  him  that  he  will  not  say  any 
thing  about  caring  for  me.     I  will  act  so  as  to  pre 
vent  him  from  saying  any  thing  about  that.     Then 
we  will  go  on  and  be  friends  the  same    as   ever.' 
But  by  and  by  that  did  not  seem  right  either.     It 
would  be  as  cruel  as  the  other,  because,  if  you  really 
did  care    for  me,  it    would  be  a  long  suspense,  a 
long  agony  for  you  ;  and  perhaps,  if  nothing  were 
said  about  it,  you  might  get  to  caring  still  more  for 
me,  and  might  allow  yourself  to  cherish  false  hopes, 
hopes  that  could  never  come  true.     So  I  decided 
that  this  course  was  as  far  from  right  as  the  first 
one.     And,  besides,  I  distrusted  my  own  power— 
my  power  to  keep  you  from  speaking.     It  would  be 
a  long,  long  battle.     I  doubted  whether  I    should 
have  the  strength  to  carry  it  through— always  to  be 
on  my  guard,  and  prevent  you  from  speaking.  *  No/ 
I  said,   *  it  is  bound  to  come.     Sooner  or   later,    if 
we  go  on  seeing  each   other,  he  will  surely   speak. 
Is  it  not  better  that  I  should  let  him  know  at  once— 
what  waiting  will  make  harder  for  him  to  hear  and 
for  me  to  tell  him— that    I    can  never  become  his 
wife  ?     Then,  when    he    knows  that  he  has  made  a 
mistake  in  caring  for  me,  then  he  will  go  away,  and 
think  of  other   things,   and   see  other   women,   and 
perhaps,  by  and  by,  get   over   it,  and  forget  about 


"THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES."        143 

me.'  I  knew  that  if  I  told  you  that  it  was  impos 
sible  for  us  to  get  married,  and  why  it  was  impos 
sible,  I  knew  that  you  would  give  up  hoping  ;  and  I 
thought  that  this  course  was  the  best  of  all.  It 
was  very  hard.  I  shrank  from  the  idea  of  speaking 
to  you  as  I  have  done.  Your  good  opinion  is  very 
precious  to  me.  It  was  hard  to  persuade  myself  to 
say  things  to  you  that  would,  perhaps,  make  you 
think  differently  of  me.  But  I  felt  that  it  was  best. 
I  had  no  right  to  procrastinate— to  let  you  go  on 
caring  for  me,  and  hoping  for  what  could  never  be. 
Then  I  decided  that  I  would  see  you  and  tell 
you  about  it  right  away." 

She  paused  and  breathed  deeply  ;  but  before  Ar 
thur  had  had  time  to  put  in  a  word,  she  resumed  : 
"  I  do  not  believe  that  you  have  meant  to  make  it 
more  difficult  for  me  to-day  than  it  had  to  be  ;  but 
it  has  pained  me  very  much  to  hear  you  speak  as 
you  have  spoken.  You  have  not  understood  ;  but 
now  you  understand — must  understand.  I  never 
can  be  your  wife.  You  must  try  to  get  over  caring 
for  me.  You  must  go  away,  now  that  I  have  ex 
plained,  and  never  come  any  more." 

She  had  said  all  this  in  a  low  tone,  though  each 
syllable  had  been  fraught  with  earnestness,  and  had 
manifestly  cost  an  effort.  Arthur,  during  the  last 
few  sentences,  had  been  pacing  up  and  down  the 
room.  Now  he  came  to  a  standstill  before  her. 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  demanded,  '*  that 
that  is  your  last  word,  your  ultimatum  ?  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  will  send  me  away — banish 


144  MRS 

me  from  your  presence— forbid  me  the  happiness  of 
seeing  you  and  hearing  you— all  for  a  mere  paltry 
nothing  ?     If  there  were  a  real  impediment  to    our 
marriage,  I  should  be  the   first  to   acknowledge   it, 
to  bow  before  it.     But  this  thing  that   you     have 
mentioned— this— well,  call  it  a  secret,  if  you  will- 
is  this  empty  memory  to  rise  up  as  a  barrier  between 
your  life  and  mine  ?     Oh,  no,  no  !  You  have  spoken 
of  cruelty— you  have  wished  not  to  be  cruel.     And 
yet  tliis  utmost  cruelty  you  seem  willing  to  perpetrate 
in  cold  blood.     Stop,  think,  reflect  upon  what  you 
are  doing  !     Have  you  not  seen  how  much    I   love 
you  ?  how  my  whole  life  is  in  my  love  of  you  ?     Do 
you  not  know  that    what    you    propose    to    do— to 
send  me  away,  all  on  account  of  this  miserable  se 
cret—is  to  break  my  life  forever  ?  is  to  put  out  the 
light  forever  from  my  sky,  and  turn  my  world   to   a 
waste  of  dust  and  ashes  ?     Can  you— you    who    re 
coil  from  cruelty— be  as  wantonly   cruel   as   this  ? 
Have  I  not  told  you  that  I  care   nothing  for   your 
secret,  that  I  shall  never  think    of   your  secret,    if 
you    will   only  speak   one    word?     Oh,    it    is    not 
possible     that    you     can    deliberately    break    my 
heart,   for    a    mere  dead   thing    like    that  !     If    it 
were    something    actual,     something    substantial, 
something  existing  now  and  here,  it  would  be  dif 
ferent.     Then  I,  too,  should  recognize  the  size  and 
the  weight  of  it.     I   should  accept  the  inevitable, 
and  resign  myself  as  best  I  could.     But  a  bygone, 
a  thing  that  is  past  and  done  with,  how  can  you  let 
that  stand  between  us  ?     I  can  never  resign  myself 


"  THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES."        145 

to  that.  Can't  you  imagine  the  torture  of  my 
position  ?  To  want  a  thing  with  all  my  soul,  to 
know  that  there  is  no  earthly  reason  why  I  should 
not  have  it,  and  yet  to  know  that  I  can  not  have  it 
— why,  it  is  like  being  defeated  by  a  soap  bubble,  a 
vapor.  Of  what  use  is  all  this  talk  ?  We  are 
merely  confusing  each  other,  merely  beating  about 
the  bush.  I  have  told  you  what  you  did  not 
expect  to  hear.  You  thought  that  I  would  be 
swerved  from  my  purpose  when  you  said  that  you 
had  a  secret.  You  thought  I  would  go  away,  satis 
fied  that  it  was  best  for  us  not  to  marry.  But,  you 
see,  you  did  yourself  an  injustice.  You  did  not 
guess  the  real  depth  of  the  love  you  had  inspired. 
You  see,  I  love  you  too  much  to  care  about  the 
past.  Confess  that  you  did  not  consider  this,  when 
you  made  up  your  mind  to  send  me  away.  But 
this  talk  is  of  no  use.  All  the  talk  in  the  world 
can  not  alter  the  way  we  stand.  Here  are  the 
simple  facts :  I  love  you.  /  love  you !  1  ask 
you  to  be  my  wife.  I  kneel  down  before  you, 
and  take  your  hand  in  mine,  and  beg  of  you 
not  to  spurn  my  love — not  to  be  guided  by  a 
blind,  deluded  conscience — not  to  think  of  the 
past — but  to  think  only  of  the  present  and  the 
future— to  think  only  of  how  much  I  love  you— of 
how  all  the  happiness  of  my  life  is  now  at  stake, 
for  you  to  make  or  to  destroy.  I  ask  you  to  be 
merciful.  I  ask  you  to  look  into  your  heart,  and 
let  that  prompt  you  how  to  act.  If  there  is  one 
atom  of  love  for  me  in  it — you — " 


146  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

He  broke  off  sharply  ;  drew  a  quick,  hard  breath. 
Something — a  sudden,  furtive  gleam  far  down  in 
her  eyes — a  swift  coming  and  going  of  color  to  and 
from  her  cheek — caused  his  heart  to  throb  with  an 
exultant  thrill,  that  for  an  instant  deprived  him  of 
the  power  of  speech.  Then,  all  at  once,  "  Oh,  my 
God  !  You  do  love  me.  You  do  love  me  !  "  he  cried. 
He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  strained  her  rap 
turously  to  his  breast. 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  resist.  Her  face  lay 
for  a  moment  buried  upon  his  shoulder.  It  was  a 
supreme  moment  of  silence.  Then  she  broke 
away.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  She  sobbed 
out,  "  It  is  wrong,  all  wrong." 

But  Arthur  knew  that  he  had  gained  the  day. 
Her  first  sign  of  weakness  was  his  assurance  of 
success.  Protest  now  as  she  might,  she  could  no 
longer  hide  her  love  from  him.  And  if  she  loved 
him,  what  had  he  to  fear  ?  There  was  much  fur 
ther  talk  between  them.  She  tried  to  regain  the 
ground  she  had  lost.  Failing  in  this,  she  wept, 
and  spoke  of  the  wrong  she  had  done  him,  and 
said  that  she  had  forfeited  her  self-respect.  But 
Arthur  summoned  all  his  eloquence  to  induce  her 
to  look  at  the  matter  through  his  eyes,  and  in  the 
end — Somewhat  later  an  eavesdropper  outside  the 
parlor  door  might  have  caught  the  following  dia 
logue  passing  within  : 

Ruth's  voice  :  "  It  is  strange,  Arthur,  but  a  little 
while  ago  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  never  tell 
that — that  thing — I  spoke  about,  to  any  living  soul  ; 


"  THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES"        147 

yet  now — now  I  feel  quite  otherwise.  I  feel  as 
though  I  could  tell  it  to  you.  I  want  to  tell  it  to 
you.  It  is  only  right  that  I  should  tell  you  every 
thing  about  my  life.  It  is  a  long  story  ;  shall  I 
begin  ?" 

Arthur's  voice  :  "  No,  Ruth.  Shall  I  let  the 
happiness  of  this  hour  be  marred  for  you  and  me, 
by  your  thinking  and  speaking  of  what  would  pain 
you  ?  Besides,  I  prefer  that  you  should  keep  this 
— this  thing — this  secret — as  an  evidence  of  my 
unwavering  confidence  in  you.  Why  should  we 
trouble  ourselves  about  the  past  at  all,  when  the 
present  is  at  hand,  and  the  future  is  waiting  for  us  ? 
You  and  I — we  have  only  just  been  born.  The 
past  is  dead.  Our  life  dates  from  this  moment. 
Oh,  it  is  to  the  future  that  we  must  look  !  " 

"  But  it  seems  as  though  you  ought  to  know — 
ought  to  know  your  wife — ought  to  know  who  she 
is,  and  what  she  has  done." 

"  But  I  do  k'now  her.  I  do  know  who  she  is  and 
what  she  has  done.  I  know  it  all  by  instinct.  I 
want  her  to  have  this  constant  proof  of  my  love — 
that  I  can  trust  her  without  learning  her  se 
crets." 

"  But  you  will  not  forget — never  forget — that  I 
have  offered  to  tell  you,  will  you  ?  You  will 
remember  that  I  am  always  willing  to  tell  you — 
that  whenever  you  wish  to  know  it,  you  will  only 
have  to  ask  me." 

"  Yes,  I  will  remember  it  ;  and  it  will  make  me 
happy  to  remember  it,  But  if  you  wish  to  tell  me 


148  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

something  now  that  I  should  like  to  hear,  tell  me 
on  what  day  we  shall  be  married  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  too  soon  to  fix  that— we  can  wait 
about  fixing  that." 

"  No,  no.  It  must  be  fixed  before  I  take  leave 
of  you  to-day.  Every  thing  must  be  finally  settled. 
When  ? " 

"  Whenever  you  wish." 

"  To-morrow." 

"  Of  course  I  did  not  mean  that." 

"  As  soon,  then,  as  possible." 

"  Not  sooner  than — " 

"  Not  longer  at  the  utmost  than  a  month." 

"  A  month  ?     It  is  a  very  short  time,  a  month." 

"  But  it  is  a  month  too  long.  Make  it  a  month, 
or  less." 

"  Well,  a  month,  then  :  this  day  month." 

"  This  day  month — to-day  being  Friday — falls  on 
Sunday.  Say,  rather  this  day  four  weeks,  the  25th 
of  July." 

"  How  shall  I  get  ready  in  that  interval  ?  " 

"  How  shall  I  live  through  that  interval  ?  " 

"  What  interval  ?  Talking  about  music,  as 
usual  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hart,  entering  at  this  moment. 
"  Mr.  Ripley,  how  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  happiest  man  in  the  world,"  he 
answered. 

"  I  congratulate  you.     Have  you  won  a  case  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  have  won  a  wife." 

"  I  congratulate  you  doubly.  Who  is  the 
lady?" 


"  THE  WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES."       149 

"  Let  me  present  her  to  you,"  he  laughed,  taking 
Ruth  by  the  hand. 

Mrs.  Hart  dropped  every  thing  she  held — scis 
sors,  spectacles,  knitting-bag — struck  an  astonished 
attitude,  and  uttered  a  sharp  cry  of  surprise.  Ruth 
blushed  and  smiled.  For  an  instant  the  two  ladies 
stood  off  and  eyed  each  other.  Then  simultane 
ously  they  rushed  toward  each  other,  and  fell  into 
each  other's  arms  ;  and  then  there  were  tears  and 
kisses  and  incoherent  sounds. 

Finally,  "  I  congratulate  you  trebly,"  said  Mrs. 
Hart,  turning  to  Arthur. 

For  a  while  every  body  was  very  happy  and  very 
sentimental. 

When,  toward  midnight,  Arthur  returned  to  his 
own  abode,  Hetzel  asked  him  where  he  had  spent 
the  evening. 

"  In  heaven,"  he  replied. 

"  And  with  what  particular  divinity  ?  " 

"With  Mrs.  Lehmyl." 

"So?" 

"Yes,  sir.  And — and  what  do  you  suppose? 
She  and  I  are  going  to  be  married." 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Hetzel. 

"  Yes  ;  we  are  engaged,  betrothed.  We  are  going 
to  be  married." 

"  Engaged  ?  Betrothed  ?  Married  ?  You  ?  Non 
sense  !  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Our  wedding  day  is 
fixed  for  the  25th  of  next  month." 

"  Oh,  come,  be  rational." 


1 5°  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  I  am  rational.     Why  should  I  jest  about  it?  " 

"  Have  you  suddenly  fallen  heir  to  a  fortune  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not  ;  why  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  Why,  what  are  you  going  to  get  mar 
ried  on  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  who's  to  foot  the  bills  ?  " 

"  I  have  my  income,  have  I  not  ?  " 

"  Oh,  your  income.  Oh,  to  be  sure.  Let's  see 
— how  many  thousands  did  it  amount  to  last 
year  ?  " 

"  It  amounted  to  fifteen  hundred." 

"  Fifteen  hundred  what  ?  " 

"  Hundred  dollars." 

"  Is  that  all?" 

"  It  is  enough." 

"  Do  you  seriously  intend  to  marry  on  that  ?  " 

"  WThy  not  ?  " 

"  Why,  it  won't  keep  your  wife  in  pocket  handker 
chiefs,  let  alone  feeding  and  clothing  her." 

"  I  hadn't  thought  about  it,  but  I'm  sure  we  can 
get  along  on  fifteen  hundred — added  to  what  I  can 
earn." 

"  What  was  her  opinion  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  mention  the  subject." 

"  You  asked  her  to  marry  you  without  exhibiting 
your  bank  account.  Shame  !  " 

"  We  love  each  other." 

"  When  poverty  comes  in  at  the  door,  what  is  it 
love's  habit  to  do  ?  " 

u  Such  love  as  ours  waxes  greater." 


"  THE   WOMAN  WHO  HESITATES."        15* 

«  And— and  your  mother.     What  will  she  say  ?  " 
"  I'm  going  to  write  to  her  to-night— now." 
"  Has  your  mother  much  respect  for   my  judg 
ment  ? " 

"  You  know  she  has." 

"  Well,  then,  teil  her  from  me  that  you've  just 
done  a  most  sensible  thing;  that  your  bride's  an 
angel,  yourself  a  trump,  and  each  of  you  to  «be 
envied  above  all  man  and  woman  kind." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ENTER    MRS.    PEIXADA. 

rPHE  four  weeks  had  wound  away.  I  shall  not 
1  detain  the  reader  with  a  history  of  them. 
The  log-book  of  a  prosperous  voyage  is  apt  to  be 
dull  literature.  They  were  four  weeks  of  delight 
ful  progress  toward  a  much-desired  goal — four 
weeks  of  unmitigated  happiness.  The  course  of 
true  love  ran  smooth.  Time  flew.  Looking  for 
ward,  to  be  sure,  Arthur  thought  the  hoped-for  day 
would  never  come.  But  looking  backward  from 
the  eve  of  it,  he  was  compelled  to  wonder  whither 
the  time  had  sped. 

On  Thursday,  the  24th  of  July,  in  the  office  of 
Assistant-district-attorney  Romer,  were  seated 
Arthur,  Peixada,  and  Mr.  Romer  himself.  Arthur 
held  an  open  letter  in  his  hand.  The  letter,  writ 
ten  in  a  heavy,  English  chirography,  was  signed 
with  considerable  flourish,  "  Reginald  Graham." 
Arthur  had  just  finished  reading  it  aloud.  Said 
he,  folding  it  up  and  putting  it  into  his  pocket, 
"  So  all  trace  of  her  is  lost.  We  are  back  at  the 
point  we  started  from." 

Said  Peixada,  "  Well,  we  shall  simply  be  obliged 


ENTER  MRS.  PEIXADA.  153 

to  adopt  the  plan  that  I  suggested  in  the  first  place 
— advertise." 

Assented  Romer,  "  Yes,  an  advertisement  is  our 
last  hope." 

"  A  forlorn  one.  She  would  never  answer  it," 
croaked  Arthur. 

"  That  depends,"  said  Romer. 

"  Upon  what  ?  " 

"  Upon  the  adroitness  with  which  the  advertise 
ment  is  framed." 

"  Well,  for  instance  ?   Give  us  a  sample." 

"  Let  me  think,"  said  Romer.  After  a  moment's 
reflection,  "  How  would  this  answer  ?  "  And  he 
applied  pen  to  paper.  Presently  he  submitted  the 
paper  for  inspection  to  his  companions.  Its  con 
tents  were  as  follows  : 

"  PEIXADA. — If  Mrs.  Judith  Peixada,  nee  Karon, 
widow  of  Bernard  Peixada,  Esquire,  late  of  the 
city  of  New  York,  deceased,  and  formerly  adminis 
tratrix  of  the  goods,  chattels,  and  credits  of  said 
decedent,  will  communicate  either  personally  or  by 
letter  with  her  brother-in-law,  Benjamin  Peixada, 

No. Reade   Street,   New    York,  she  will  learn 

something  affecting  the  interests  of  her  estate 
greatly  to  her  advantage." 

"  That,  I  think,"  said  Romer,  "  ought  to  be 
inserted  in  the  principal  newspapers  of  America, 
England,  France,  and  Germany." 

"That's  what  I  call  first-rate,"  was  Peixada's 
comment. 


154  l^fKS.  PE1XADA. 

Arthur  held  his  peace. 

"  Well,"  demanded  Romer,  "  how  does  it  strike 
you  ?  " 

Arthur  deliberated  ;  at  length  said,  "  Candidly, 
Romer,  do  you  regard  that  as  altogether  square 
and  above-board  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  It's  a  decoy.  The  use  of  decoys  in 
dealing  with  criminals — this  woman  is  a  criminal, 
mind  you  ;  a  murderess  and  practically  a  thief 
as  well — the  use  of  decoys  in  such  cases  is  justified 
by  a  hundred  precedents." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "    asked  Peixada. 

"  Nothing's  the  matter  with  me,"  retorted  Arthur, 
a  bit  sharply  ;  "  but  I  must  say,  I  think  such  a 
proceeding  as  this  is  pretty  low." 

"  Oh,  come  ;  no,  you  don't,"  urged  Romer. 

"  I  do.  And  what's  more,  I  won't  lend  myself  to 
it.  If  that  advertisement  appears  in  the  papers, 
Mr.  Peixada  will  have  to  retain  another  man  in  my 
place." 

"  But,  goodness  alive,  it's  our  last  resort.  Would 
you  rather  have  the  whole  business  fall  through  ? 
Be  reasonable.  Why,  it's  a  ruse  the  daintiest  men 
at  the  bar  wouldn't  stick  at." 

"  Perhaps  they  wouldn't  ;  but  I  do." 

"  Well,  what  else  is  there  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  And  besides,"  said  Arthur,  not  heeding  Romer's 
question,  "  you  make  a  great  mistake  in  fancying 
that  she  would  be  deceived  by  it.  If  that  woman 
is  any  thing,  she's  shrewd.  She's  far  too  shrewd  to 
bite  when  the  hook's  in  sight." 


ENTER  MRS.  PRIX  A  DA.  155 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  mean  she'd  sniff  danger  at  once — divine  that 
it  is — what  you  have  called  it — a  decoy.  What 
under  the  sun  could  her  brother-in-law  have  to 
communicate  that  would  be  to  her  advantage  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  said  Romer,  shrugging  his  shoul 
ders  ;  "suggest  a  more  promising  move,  and  I'll 
be  with  you." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Arthur,  "  I'm  not  too 
squeamish.  I  won't  connive  at  downright  false 
hood  ;  but  I'm  willing  to  compromise.  It's  a  bit 
ter  pill  to  swallow — it  goes  against  the  grain — but 
I'll  consent  to  something  like  this.  Let  me  take 
your  pen." 

Arthur  scratched  off  a  line  or  two. 

"  Here,"  he  said. 

"  PEIXADA. — If  Mrs.  Judith  Peixada,  nfo  Karon, 
widow  of  Bernard  Peixada,  Esquire,  deceased,  will 
communicate  with  her  brother-in-law,  Benjamin 

Peixada,  No. Reade  Street,  New  York,  she  will 

confer  a  favor,"  was  what  Arthur  had  written. 

"  This,"  he  added  verbally,  "  will  be  quite  as 
likely  to  fetch  her  as  the  other.  Its  very  frank 
ness  will  disarm  suspicion.  Besides,  it's  not  such 
an  out-and-out  piece  of  treachery." 

"  What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Peixada  ?  "  inquired 
Romer. 

"  Oh,  I  think  she'd  sooner  cut  her  thumbs  off 
than  do  me  a  favor.  But  I  leave  the  decision  with 
you  lawyers." 

u  I   may  as    well  repeat,"  volunteered     Arthur, 


156  MRS.  PEfXADA. 

"  that  in  the  event  of  your  employing  the  form  Mr. 
Romer  drew,  I  shall  withdraw  from  the  case." 

"Well,"  said  Romer,  "I'm  not  sure  Ripley  isn't 
right.  At  any  rate,  no  harm  giving  his  way  a  trial. 
If  it  should  fail  to  attract  our  game,  we  can  use 
sweeter  bait  later  on.  Who'll  see  to  its  insertion  ?  " 

"  I  shall  have  to  beg  you  to  do  that,"  said 
Arthur,  "  because  to-morrow  I'm  going  out  of 
town — to  stay  about  a  fortnight.  I  shall  be  on 
deck  again  two  weeks  from  Monday — August  nth. 
Meanwhile,  here's  my  country  address.  Telegraph 
me,  if  any  thing  turns  up." 

Telling  the  story  of  his  morning's  work  to  Hetzel, 
he  concluded  thus,  "  I  suppose  it  was  a  legitimate 
enough  stratagem — one  that  few  lawyers  would 
stop  at— but,  all  the  same,  I  feel  like  a  sneak.  I 
should  like  to  kick  myself." 

Hetzel  responded,  cheeringly,  "  You've  made 
your  own  bed,  and  now  you've  got  fo  lie  in  it. 
You  ought  to  have  observed  these  little  drawbacks 
to  the  beauty  of  Themis,  before  you  dedicated  your 
self  to  her  service." 

Next  day  in  Mrs.  Hart's  parlor,  Arthur  Ripley  and 

Ruth  Lehmyl  were  married.     Besides  themselves 

*   i      and  the  clergyman  who  tied  the  knot,  the  only  per- 

sons  present  were  Arthur's  mother,  Mrs.  Hart,  Julian 

Hetzel,  and  a  certain  Mr.  Arthur  Flint. 

This  last  named  gentleman  was  Arthur's  god 
father,  and  had  been  a  classmate  of  Arthur's  father 


ENTER  MRS.  PEIXADA.  157 

at  Yale  college.  He  was  blessed  with  a  wife,  a 
couple,  of  married  daughters,  and  a  swarm  of  grand 
children  of  both  sexes  ;  despite  which,  he  had 
always  taken  a  more  than  godfatherly  interest  in 
his  namesake.  For  whatever  business  Arthur  had 
to  do,  prior  to  his  connection  with  Peixada,  he  was 
indebted  to  Mr.  Flint.  It  was  but  natural,  there 
fore,  that  he  should  have  apprised  Mr.  Flint  of  his 
matrimonial  projects  as  soon  as  they  were  distinctly 
formed.  He  had  visited  him  one  day  at  his  office, 
and  asked  him  to  attend  the  wedding. 

"  The  25th  of  July  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Flint.  "  At  such 
short  notice  ?  And  my  wife  and  Sue  and  Nellie 
away  in  Europe  !  It's  a  pity  I  can't  call  them 
home  by  the  next  steamer,  to  wish  you  joy.  It'll 
break  their  hearts  not  to  be  present  at  your  mar 
riage.  However — however,  where  are  you  going 
on  your  wedding-journey  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind.  We  were  think 
ing  of  some  place  on  the  New  Jersey  coast." 

"  The  New  Jersey  coast  is  all  sand  and  glare.  It 
would  spoil  your  bride's  complexion.  I'll  tell  you 
what  you'd  better  do.  You'd  better  go  and  pass 
your  honeymoon  at  my  cottage  in  New  Hamp 
shire—Beacon  Rock.  It's  shut  up  and  doing  no 
one  any  good— consequence  of  my  wife's  trip  to 
Europe.  Say  the  word,  and  I'll  wire  Perkins— my 
general  factotum  there — to  open  and  air  the  house, 
start  fires,  and  be  ready  to  welcome  you  with  a 
warm  dinner  on  the  26th." 

"You're  too  kind,     I  don't  know  what  to  say," 


I58  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"Then  say  nothing.  I'll  take  yes  for  granted. 
You'll  find  Beacon  Rock  just  the  place  for  a  month's 
billing  and  cooing.  Eastward,  the  multitudinous 
sea  ;  westward,  the  hardy  New  England  landscape  ; 
and  all  around  you,  the  sweetest  air  it  will  ever  be 
your  luck  to  breathe.  Look  here." 

Mr.  Flint  opened  a  drawer  of  his  desk  and  ex 
tracted  a  pile  of  photographs. 

"  Here's  Beacon  Rock  taken  from  every  available 
point  of  view.  Here  are  some  glimpses  of  the  inte 
rior,"  he  said. 

Divided  between  delight  and  gratitude,  Arthur 
could  only  stammer  forth  broken  phrases. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  what's  her  address  ?  "  demand 
ed  Mr.  Flint,  as  Arthur  was  on  the  point  of  bid 
ding  him  good-by. 

"  I  thought  I  had  told  you.  You'll  be  sure  to 
call  soon,  won't  you?  No.  46  Beekman  Place." 

"  Now,  mum's  the  word,"  proceeded  Mr.  Flint. 
"  I  don't  want  you  to"breathe  a  syllable  of  this  busi 
ness  to  your  sweetheart.  Lead  her  to  suppose  that 
you're  going  to  some  Purgatorial  summer  hotel  ; 
and  then  enjoy  her  surprise  when  she  spies  Beacon 
Rock.  Oh,  yes,  I'll  call  and  pay  her  my  respects 
— likely  enough  some  night  this  week.  Good-by. 
God  bless  you." 

Mr.  Flint  called,  pursuant  to  his  promise.  On 
the  stoop,  as  he  was  leaving,  he  clapped  Arthur 
upon  the  shoulder,  and  cried,  "  By  George,  my  boy, 
your  Jewess  is  a  jewel  !  " 

Three  days  later  came  a  paper  parcel,   addressed 


ENTER  MRS.  PEIXADA.  159 

to  Mrs.  Lehmyl.  It  contained  a  small  purple  velvet 
box.  To  the  outside  of  the  box  was  attached  a 
card,  bearing  the  laconic  device,  "  Sparks  from  a 
Flint."  Inside,  upon  a  cushion  of  lavender  silk 
lay  a  gold  breastpin,  from  the  center  of  which  a 
cluster  of  wondrous  diamonds  shot  prismatic  rays. 
It  was  the  sole  bit  of  jewelry  that  adorned  Ruth's 
wedding-gown. 

"  Immediately  after  the  ceremony,"  says  Hetzel, 
in  a  letter  written  at  the  time,  "  they  got  into  a  hack, 
and  were  driven  to  the  Fall  River  boat.  We,  who 
were  left  behind,  crossed  the  street  and  assembled 
upon  the  loggia.  There  we  waited  till  the  Bristol 
hove  in  sight  down  the  river.  Then,  until  it  had 
disappeared  behind  Blackwell's  Island,  there  was 
much  waving  of  handkerchiefs  between  the  travelers 
— whom  we  could  make  out  quite  clearly,  leaning 
against  the  rail— and  us  poor  stay-at-homes.  After 
ward,  Mrs.  Ripley  and  Mrs.  Hart  adapted  their 
handkerchiefs  to  other  purposes." 

A  week  elapsed  before  the  bride  and  groom  were   ' 
heard  from.     Eventually  Hetzel  got  a  voluminous 
missive.     Portions  of  it  read  thus: 

"In  Boston,  as  our  train  didn't  leave  till 
noon,  we  sought  the  Decorative  Art  Rooms, 
and  spent  an  hour  or  so  coveting  the  pretty 
things  that  they  are  full  of.  At  the  depot  I  had  a 
slight  unpleasantness  with  the  potentate  from  whom 
I  bought  our  tickets — (confound  the  insolence  of 
these  railroad  officials  !  Why  doesn't  some 
ingenious  Yankee  contrive  an  automaton  by  which 


160  AffiS.  PEIXADA. 


they  may  be  superseded  ?)—  but  despite  it,  we  got 
started  comfortably  enough,  and  were  set  down  at 
Portsmouth  promptly  at  three  o'clock.  She  enjoyed 
the  drive  in  an  open  carriage  through  the  quaint 
old  New  England  town  immensely  ;  but  when  we 
had  reached  the  open  country,  and  were  being 
whisked  over  bridges,  down  leafy  lanes,  across  rug 
ged  pasture  lands,  on  our  way  to  New  Castle,  her 
pleasure  knew  no  bounds.  There  is  something 
peculiarly  refreshing  in  this  keen  New  Hampshire 
air,  compounded  as  it  is  of  pine  odors  and  the  smell 
of  the  sea,  and  something  equally  refreshing  in 
this  homely  New  Hampshire  landscape,  with  its 
thorns  and  thistles  growing  alongside  daisies  and 
wild  roses. 

'  The  locust  dinned  amid  the  trees  ; 
The  fields  were  high  with  corn/ 

as  we  spun  onward  behind  the  horses'  hoofs.  Now 
and  then,  much  to  her  consternation,  a  brilliant 
striped  snake  darted  from  the  foot-path  into  the 
bushes  .....  I  had  given  her  to  believe,  you 
know,  that  our  destination  was  the  *  *  *  hotel,  a 
monstrous  barracks  of  an  establishment,  perched 
on  the  top  of  a  hill  in  this  neighborhood  ;  and  when 
we  clattered  past  it  without  stopping,  she  was  alto 
gether  mystified.  I  parried  her  questions  success 
fully,  however  ;  and  at  the  end  of  another  half  mile 
Beacon  Rock  rose  before  us  .....  For  a 
while  we  did  —  could  do  —  nothing  but  race  around 
the  outside  of  the  house,  and  attempt  by  eloquent 


E.VTER  MRS.   PEIXADA.  161 

attitudes,  frantic  gestures,  ecstatic  monosyllables, 
to  express  something  of  the  admiration  which  it 
inspired.  Mr.  Flint  had  shown  me  photographs  of 
the  cottage  before  I  left  New  York  ;  but  he  had 
shown  me  no  photographs  of  the  earth,  sea,  and  sky 
by  which  it  is  surrounded— and  that  is  its  superla 
tive  merit.  It  falls  in  perfectly  with  the  nature 
round  about.  It  is  indigenous — as  thoroughly  so 
as  the  seaweed,  the  stone  walls,  the  apple  trees.  It 
looks  as  though  it  might  have  grown  out  of  the 
soil:  or  as  if  the  waters,  in  a  mood  of  titanic  playful 
ness,  had  cast  it  up  and  left  it  where  it  stands  upon 
the  shore.  Fancy  a  square  tower,  built  of  untrimmed 
stone,  fifty  feet  in  height  and  twenty  in  diameter, 
springing  straight  up  from  a  bare  granite  ledge — 
which,  in  its  turn,  sprouts  from  a  grassy  lawn,  which, 
in  its  turn,  slopes  gradually  down  to  the  rocks  at 
the  sea's  edge.  This  solemn,  sturdy  tower  is 
pierced  at  its  base  by  divers  sinister  looking  port 
holes,  which  suggest  cannon  and  ambushed  war 
riors,  but  which,  in  point  of  fact,  perform  no  more 
bellicose  a  function  than  that  of  admitting  daylight 
into  the  cellar.  Above  these  there  are  deep-set 
windows,  through  which  the  sun  pours  merrily  all 
day  long.  I  am  seated  at  one  of  them,  writing,  now. 
.  .  .  .  The  tower  faces  the  sea,  and  defies  it. 
Behind  the  tower,  and  sheltered  by  it,  nestles  the 
cottage  proper,  a  most  picturesque,  gabled,  ramb 
ling  structure  of  wood,  painted  terra-cotta  red. 

.     .     I  don't  know  how  long  we  stood   around 
outside.      Finally,      Mr.   Perkins— a    native    who, 


1 62  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

aided  by  his  wife,  cooks  and  '  chores'  for  us — sug 
gested  the  propriety  of  entering.  We  entered  ;  and 
if  the  exterior  had  charmed  us,  the  interior  simply 
carried  us  away.  I  shall  not  attempt  an  itemized 
description  of  it,  because  probably  I  shouldn't  be 
able  to  make  the  picture  vivid  enough  to  be  worth 
your  while.  But  imagine  the  extreme  of  aestheticism 
combined  with  the  extreme  of  comfort,  and  you 
will  get  a  rough  notion  of  our  environment.  There 
are  broad,  open  fire-places,  deep  chimney  corners, 
luxurious  Turkey  rugs,  antique  chairs  and  tables, 
beautiful  pictures,  interesting  books — though  we 
don't  read  them — and  every  thing  else  a  fellow's 
heart  could  desire.  There  is  no  piano — the  sea  air 
would  make  short  work  of  one — but  I  have  hired  a 
guitar  from  a  Portsmouth  music  dealer,  and  she 
accompanies  her  songs  on  this  ....  Our 
mode  of  existence  has  been  a  perpetual  dolcefar 
niente,  diversified  by  occasional  strolls  about  the 
country — to  Fort  Constitution,  a  ruin  of  1812 — to 
the  hotel,  where  a  capital  orchestra  dispenses  music 
every  afternoon — or  simply  across  the  meadows, 
without  an  objective  point.  We  can  sight  several 
light-houses  from  the  tower  windows  ;  and  a  mile 
out  at  sea,  in  everlasting  restlessness,  floats  a  deep- 
voiced,  melancholy  bell-buoy,  which  recalls  all  the 
weird  creeping  of  the  flesh  we  had  in  reading  the 
shipwreck  in  Z'  homme  qui  rit.  .  .  .  Of  course 
we  have  written  a  glowing  letter  of  thanks  to  Mr. 
Flint.  She,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  could  not  at  first 
believe  her  senses— believe  that  this  little  earthly 


ENTER  MRS.  PEIXADA.  163 

paradise  was  meant  for  our  occupation.  When  at 
last  the  truth  was  borne  in  upon  her,  you  ought  to 

have  witnessed  her  delight 

Oh,  Julian,  old  boy,  you  can't  form  the  least  con 
ception  of  the  great,  radiant  joy  that  fills  my  heart. 
I  am  really  half  afraid  that  it's  a  dream  from  which 
I  shall  presently  wake  up.  I  don't  dare  to  verify  it 
by  pinching  myself,  lest  that  misfortune  might 
indeed  befall  me.  My  happiness  is  so  much  in 
excess  of  other  men's,  I  don't  feel  that  I  deserve  it ; 
and  sometimes  I  am  tormented  by  a  morbid  dread  -» 
that  it  may  not  last.  Just  think,  she  is  actually  my 
wife  !  Ah,  how  my  heart  leaps,  when  I  say  that  to 

myself,  and  realize  all  that  it  means  ! 

I  have  tried  to  put  business  quite  out  of  my  mind  ; 
but  now  and  then  it  recurs  to  me,  despite  myself. 
I  feel  more   and  more  uncomfortable  about   that  \ 
advertisement.     I  have  no  doubt  the  woman  richly 
deserves  the  worst  that  can  happen  to  her,   and  all 
that,  but  nevertheless  I  can't  get  rid  of  a  deucedly 
unpleasant  qualm   of  conscience,  when  I  think  of 
the  trap  I  have  helped  to  set  for  her.     Between  our 
selves,  I  derive  some  consolation   from  the  thought 
that  the  chances  are  ninety-nine  in  a  hundred  that  she 
will  decline  to    nibble  at  our  bait.     ...     .     .     . 

Unless  I  telegraph  to  the  contrary,  expect  us  to 
breakfast  with  you  to-morrow  week — Saturday, 
August  pth." 

Hetzel  carried  his  letter  across  the  street,  and 
gave  it  to  Mrs.  Hart.  She,  not  to  be  outdone,  read 
aloud  fragments  of  one  which  she  had  received 


1 64  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

from  Ruth  by  the  same  mail.  Among  the  para 
graphs  in  the  latter  which  she  suppressed  was 
this  : 

"  I  have  offered  twice  to  tell  him  the  whole  story. 
I  very  much  want  to  do  so — to  have  it  off  my 
mind.  It  doesn't  seem  right  that  I  should  keep  it 
secret  ;  and  he  is  so  kind  and  tender,  I  feel  that  I 
could  bring  myself  to  tell  him  every  thing.  But  with 
characteristic  generosity,  he  declines  to  listen — bids 
me  keep  my  secret  as  a  proof  of  his  confidence  in  me. 
Perhaps,  then,  it  will  be  just  as  well  for  me  to  wait 
till  we  get  back  to  town.  Sooner  or  later — and  the 
sooner,  the  better — I  shall  insist  upon  his  allowing 
me  to  speak.  A  regret  grows  upon  me  daily  that 
I  did  not  insist  upon  that  before  we  were  married. 
Though  I  know  so  well  that  he  loves  me,  my  heart 
stands  still  when  I  stop  to  think,  '  How  may  he 
feel  towards  me  when  he  knows  it  all  ? '  or, 
'  Suppose  before  I  have  explained  it  to  him,  he 
should  hear  it  from  somebody  else  ? '  Oh,  it  is  not 
possible  that  he  will  cease  to  care  for  me,  is  it  ?  I 
wish  I  could  go  to  him  this  -instant,  and  tell  him 
about  it,  and  then  for  good  and  all  know  my  fate. 
Why  did  I  wait  till  we  were  married  ?  I  could  not 
bear  to  have  him  change  in  his  feelings  toward  me 
now.  Oh,  I  wish  this  miserable  secret  were  off  my 
mind — it  tortures  me  with  such  terrifying  doubts. 
But  perhaps  I  had  best  not  interrupt  the  happiness 
of  his  holiday  by  introducing  a  subject  which  he 
appears  anxious  to  avoid.  Do  you  agree  with  me  ? 
I  say,  I  wish  I  could  go  and  tell  it  to  him  ;  and  yet 


ENTER  MRS.  PEIXADA.  165 

when  the  time  comes  for  doing  so,  I  am  afraid  my 
tongue  will  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth.  If  it 
should  destroy  his  love  for  me  !  make  him  despise 
me  !  If  for  a  single  moment,  as  I  was  speaking,  he 
should  recoil  from  me  ! — withdraw  his  hand  from 
mine  !  Oh,  God,  why  can  not  the  past  be  blotted 
out  ?  I  must  speak  to  him  before  any  body  else  can 
do  so.  If  some  one  of  his  acquaintances  should 
recognize  me,  and  tell  him,  what  might  he  not  do  ? 
He  thinks  he  would  not  care.  He  says  no  matter 
what  the  past  has  been,  it  is  totally  indifferent  to  him. 
But  perhaps  he  would  not  feel  that  way  if  he  really 
knew  it.  God  bless  him  and  keep  him  from  all 
pain  !  " 

Saturday  morning,    surely    enough,  the   truants  \ 
came  home,  and    took   up   their  quarters   at    Mrs.  \ 
Hart's,  where  for  the  present  they  were  to  remain. 
They  hoped  to  set  up  a  modest  establishment   of 
their  own  in  the  spring. 

Late  Monday  forenoon  Arthur  screwed  his 
courage  to  the  sticking  place,  and  tore  himself 
away  from  his  wife's  side.  Reading  the  newspapers 
on  his  way  down  town,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  himself  in  print.  The  Peixada  advertise 
ment  occupied  a  conspicuous  position.  He  went 
straight  to  his  office,  where  he  found  a  number  of 
letters  waiting  for  him.  These  he  disposed  of  as 
speedily  as  might  be  ;  and  then  he  sallied  forth  to 
call  upon  Mr.  Flint.  He  got  back  at  about  half- 
past  two  o'clock.  Less  than  five  minutes  later,  his 


1 66  MJtS.  PE1XADA. 

office-boy  stuck  his  head  through  the  doorway, 
and  announced,  "  A  gentleman  to  see  you." 

"  Show  him  in." 

The  gentleman  appeared.  The  gentleman  wore 
the  garb  of  a  porter.  "  I  come  from  Mr.  Peixada, 
sir,  with  a  note,"  he  explained. 

Arthur  took  the  note  and  broke  it  open.  The 
gum  on  the  envelope  was  still  damp. 

The  note  bore  evidence  of  having  been  dashed 
off  in  haste.  Here  it  is  : 

"  Office  of 
"  B.  Peixada  &  Co., 

«  No. Reade  Street, 

u  NEW  YORK,  Aug.  n,  1884. 
"  Dear  Sir  : 

ik  If  you  are  in  town,  (and   to-day  was  the 

day  fixed  for  your  return),  please  come  right  over 

here  at  your  earliest  convenience.     Mrs.  P.  is  in 

my  private  office  !     I  am  keeping  her  till  your  arrival. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  B.  PEIXADA." 

Arthur  stood  still,  his  eyes  glued  upon  this  sheet 
of  paper,  long  enough  to  have  read  it  through  a 
dozen  times. 

"Any  answer?"  Mr.  Peixada's  envoy  at  last 
demanded. 

"  Oh — of  course — I'll  go  along  with  you  at  once." 

His  heart  was  palpitating.  The  prospect  of  a 
face  to  face  encounter  with  the  redoubtable  Mrs. 


ENTER  MRS.  PEIXADA.  167 

Peixada  caused  him  unwonted  trepidation.  The 
tidings  conveyed  in  Peixada's  note  were  so  unex 
pected  and  of  such  grave  importance,  no  wonder 
Arthur's  serenity  was  ruffled.  Striding  up  Broad 
way  at  the  messenger's  heels,  he  tried  to  picture 
to  himself  the  impending  scene.  The  trap  had 
sprung.  'What  manner  of  creature  would  the  quarry 
turn  out  to  be  ?  Poor  woman  !  There  was  a  lot  of 
trouble  in  store  for  her.  But  it  was  not  his  fault. 
He  had  done  nothing  but  that  which  his  duty  as  an 
attorney  had  required  of  him.  He  would  exert  his 
influence  in  her  behalf — try  to  smooth  things  down 
for  her,  and  make  them  as  comfortable  as  under 
the  circumstances  they  could  be.  Still  for  all  slips 
of  hers,  she  was  one  of  Eve's  family.  He  felt  that 
he  pitied  her  from  the  bottom  of  his  soul. 

Peixada  was  nervously  pacing  back  and  forth  in 
the  show-room. 

"  Ah,"  he  cried,  catching  hold  of  Arthur's  hand 
and  wringing  it  vigorously,  "  you  have  come  !  What 
luck,  eh?  lean  scarcely  believe  it  is  true.  I'm 
quite  put  about  by  it,  I  declare.  She  walked  in 
here,  as  large  as  life,  not  half  an  hour  ago,  and 
asked  to  see  me.  I  had  no  idea  the  sight  of  her 
would  upset  me  so.  I  told  her  that  my  business 
with  her  was  of  a  legal  nature,  and  I  guessed  she'd 
better  wait  while  I  sent  round  for  my  attorney.  But 
I  was  desperately  afraid  you  hadn't  got  back.  She 
acted  just  like  a  lamb.  I  tell  you,  that  advertise 
ment  was  a  happy  thought,  wasn't  it  ?  Pity  we 
didn't  advertise  in  the  first  place,  and  so  save  all 


1 68  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

that  delay  and  money.  But  I'm  not  complaining — 
not  I.  I'd  be  willing  to  spend  twice  the  same 
amount  right  over  again  for  the  same  result.  Now 
we'll  get  a  round  hundred  thousand  ;  and  I  won't 
forget  you." 

"  Have  you  notified  Mr.  Romer,  too  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  of  course.  Sent  word  for  him  to  come 
with  his  officers.  She — she's  in  my  private  office — 
there — behind  that  door.  Won't  you  go  in,  and 
tell  her  about  the  will,  and  keep  her  occupied  till 
they  get  here  ?  " 

"  I — I  think  it  would  be  best  to  wait,"  said  Ar 
thur,  his  voice  trembling. 

"  No— no.  She'll  begin  to  get  impatient.  Please 
go  in  now.  It'll  relieve  my  agitation,  anyhow.  I'm 
really  surprised  to  find  myself  so  shaken  up.  Here 
— this  is  the  door.  Open  it,  and  go  ahead  in." 

"  Oh— very  well,"  consented  Arthur. 

He  put  his  hand  upon  the  knob,  fortified  him 
self  with  a  long  breath,  and  entered  the  room. 
Peixada,  sticking  his  head  in  behind  him,  rattled 
off,  "  Here,  madam,  is  the  gentleman  I  spoke  to 
you  about.  He'll  explain  what  we  want  you  for," 
and  withdrew,  slamming  the  door. 

Peixada's  private  office  was  scarcely  more  than  a 
hole  in  the  wall — a  small,  square  closet,  lighted  by 
a  single  grimy  window,  and  destitute  of  furniture 
except  for  a  desk  and  a  couple  of  chairs. 

In  one  of  these  chairs,  with  her  back  toward  the 
door,  and  engaged  apparently  in  looking  out  of  the 
window,  sat  a  lady. 


ENTER  MRS.  PEIXADA.  169 

Standing  still,  a  yard  beyond  the  threshold,  Ar 
thur  said,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  madam  —  Mrs. 
Peixada." 

The  lady  rose,  turned  around,  faced  him. 
lady  was  his  wife. 


A  slight,  startled  smile  crossed  her  face.  "  Why  — 
Arthur  —  you  —  ?  "  she  began  in  a  tone  of  surprise, 
her  eyes  brightening. 

But  suddenly  a  change  ;  a  look  of  perplexity* 
followed  by  one  of  enlightenment,  as  if  a  dreadful 
truth  had  burst  upon  her.  The  blood  sank  from 
her  cheeks,  her  lip  curled,  her  breast  fluttered  —  a 
terrible  fire  flashed  from  her  eyes.  She  drew  her 
self  up.  She  was  awful,  but  she  was  superb. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  I  see.     So  you  have  been  pryO 
ing   into    my  secrets   behind    my  back  —  you,  who  j 
were  too  magnanimous  to  let  me  tell  them  to  you  ! 
It  was  for   you    that   Mr.  Peixada  bade   me  wait.    7 
This  is  the  surprise  he  spoke  of  —  a  surprise  of  your 
contriving.      You    have   found   out  who  I  am.     I 
hope  you  are  -  " 

She  broke  off.  Her  voice  had  been  very  low, 
but  had  vibrated  with  passion.  Now,  the  flaming, 
contemptuous  eyes  with  which  she  covered  him, 
spoke  her  mind  more  plainly  than  her  tongue 
could. 

He,   upon   her  first   rising  and   facing  him,  had   , 
started  back,  gasping,  "  Good  God  —  you  —  Ruth  !  " 
Since   then    a   chaos   of  emotions    had    held    him 
dumb. 


17°  MA'S.  PE1XADA. 

But  gradually  he  recovered  himself  in  some 
measure. 

His  face  a  picture  of  blank  amazement,  "  For 
heaven's  sake,  Ruth,  what  does  this  mean?'"  he 
cried. 

She  did  not  hear  him.  Her  anger  of  a  moment 
since  gave  way  to  a  paroxysm  of  pain. 

"  Oh,  merciful  God,"  she  moaned,  "  how  I  have 
been  deceived  !  Oh,  to  think  that  he — my — my 
husband — Oh,  it  is  too  much  !  It  is  more  than  I 
can  bear." 

She  broke  down  in  a  torrent  of  tears  and  sobs. 

An  impulse  carried  him  to  her  side.  He  put  his 
arm  around  her  waist,  drew  her  to  him,  bent  over 
her,  stammered  out  broken  syllables  of  love,  com 
fort,  entreaty. 

His  touch  rekindled  her  wrath,  and  endowed  her 
frame  with  preternatural  strength.  She  repulsed 
him — flung  him  away  from  her,  over  against  the 
opposite  wall,  with  as  little  effort  as  if  he  had  been 
a  stick  in  her  path.  This  fragile  woman,  towering 
above  this  stalwart  man,  her  cheeks  now  burning 
scarlet,  her  limbs  quivering  with  strong  emotion, 
cried,  "  How  dare  you  touch  me  ?  How  dare  you 
speak  to  me?  How  dare  you  insult  me  with  your 
presence  ?  Is  it  not  enough  what  you  have  done, 
without  forcing  me  to  remain  in  the  same  room 
with  you  ?  Are  you  not  content  to  have  consorted 
with  Benjamin  Peixada — to  have  listened  to  the 
story  of  your  wife's  life  from  that  man's  lips — with 
out  coming  here  to  confront  me  with  it — to  compel 


ENTER  MRS.  PEIXADA.  171 

me  to  defend  myself  against  his  accusations  ? 
Wasn't  it  enough  to  put  that  advertisement  in  the 
paper  ?  Haven't  you  sufficiently  punished  me  by 
decoying  me  to  this  place,  as  you  have  done  ? 
What  more  do  you  want  ?  What  new  humiliation  ? 
Though  you  hate  me,  now  that  you  know  who  1 
am  and  what  I  have  done — you,  who  talked  of  lov 
ing  me  in  spite  of  every  thing — can  you  not  be 
merciful,  and  leave  me  alone  ?  Go — out  of  my 
sight— or,  at  least,  stand  aside  and  let  me  go." 

Her  words  were  followed  by  a  prolonged,  con 
vulsive  shudder. 

Exerting  his  utmost  self-control,  dazed  and 
bewildered  as  he  was,  he  began,  "  Ruth,  will  you  ; 
not  give  me  a  chance  to  speak  ?  Will  you  not  listen 
to  me  ?  Can't  you  see  that  this  is  some — some 
frightful  error  into  which  we  have  fallen — which  we 
can  only  right  by  speaking  ?  You  are  doing  me  a 
great  wrong,  Ruth.  You  are  wronging  yourself.  I 
beg  of  you,  subdue  your  anger — oh,  for  God's  sake, 
don't  look  at  me  like  that.  Try  to  be  calm,  Ruth, 
and  let  us  talk  together.  Let  me  explain  to  you. 
Explain  to  me,  for  I  am  as  hopelessly  in  the  dark 
as  you  can  be.  Let  us  have  some  understand 
ing." 

His  plea  passed  totally  without  effect :  I  suppose, 
because  his  wife  was  a  woman.  The  tumult  and 
the  violence  of  the  shock  she  had  sustained  had 
shattered  her  good  sense.  Her  perceptive  facul 
ties  were  benumbed.  Her  entire  vitality  was 
absorbed  by  her  pain  and  her  indignation.  I  doubt 


I72  MRS.  PRIX  ADA. 

whether  she   had    heard  what  he  said.      But  she 
caught  at  the  last  word,  at  any  rate. 

"  Understanding  ?  What  is  there  to  under 
stand  ?  I  understand — I  understand  quite 
enough.  I  understand  that  you  have  sought 
information  about  me  from  Benjamin  Peixada.  I 
understand  that  it  was  you  who  got  me  here  by 
false  pretenses — by  that  advertisement.  I  under 
stand  that  you — you  think  I  am — that  you  believe 
•what  Benjamin  Peixada  has  told  you — and  that — 
that  the  love  you  protested  so  much  about,  has  all 
— all  died  away — and  you — you  shudder  to  think 
that  I  am  your  wife.  Well,  you  may  understand 
this,  that  I  too  shudder.  I  shudder  to  think  that 
you  are  my  husband — to  think  that  you  could  have 
done  this  behind  my  back — that — that  you — even 
when  you  were  pretending  to  love  me  most,  and 
telling  me  that  you  did  not  care  about  my  secret — 
even  then,  you  were  fraternizing  with  Benjamin 
Peixada  !  You  may  understand  that,  however  base 
you  may  believe  me  to  be,  I  believe  you  to 
be  baser  still.  Oh,  if  you  would  only  go  away,  and 
never,  never  intrude  yourself  upon  my  sight 
again  !  " 

Completely  undone,  he  could  only  press  his 
hands  to  his  temples,  and  murmur,  "  Oh  my  God, 
my  God !" 

So  they  stood  :  he,  hanging  his  head,  deserted  by 
his  manhood,  crushed  as  by  a  blow  from  out  the 
skies  ;  she,  erect,  scornful,  magnificent,  all  her 
womanhood  aroused,  all  her  unspeakable  fury  blaz- 


ENTER  MRS.  PEIXADA.  i73 

ing  in  her  eyes  :  so  they  stood,  when,  the  door 
creaking  open,  two  new  personages  advanced  upon 
the  scene. 

He  did  not  recognize  them  ;  but  an  instinct  told 
him  who  they  were.  He  was  petrified.  It  did  not 
occur  to  him  to  interfere. 

"  Mrs.  Peixada,  I  believe,  ma'am  ? "  said  one  of 
them,  with  a  smirk. 

He  had  to  repeat  his  query  thrice  before  she 
deigned  to  give  him  her  attention. 

Then  with  supreme  dignity,  bending  her  neck, 
"  What  do  you  wish  with  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Here,  ma'am,  is  a  bench-warrant  which  I  have 
the  honor  of  serving  upon  you — matter  of  the  Peo 
ple  of  the  State  of  New  York  against  Judith  Peix 
ada,  otherwise  known  as  Judith  Karon,  charged  with 
murder  in  the  first  degree  upon  the  person  of 
Edward  Bolen,  late  of  the  City,  County,  and  State 
of  New  York,  deceased.  Please  come  along  quiet, 
ma'am,  and  make  no  resistance. — Donnelly,  get 
behind  her." 

The  officer  delivered  himself  rapidly  of  this 
address,  and  thrust  his  warrant  into  the  prisoner's 
hand.  The  man  spoken  to  as  Donnelly,  took  a 
position  behind  her,  obedient  to  orders.  His  super 
ior  opened  the  door,  and  pointing  toward  it,  said, 
"  Please  move  along  fast,  ma'am." 

She,  flinging  one  last,  brief,  scorching  glance  at 
her  husband,  bowed  to  the  officer,  and  swept  out  of 
the  room. 

For    an    instant    Arthur    remained    motionless, 


J74  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

riveted  to  the  spot  where  she  had  left  him.  All 
at  once  his  body  quivered  perceptibly.  Then,  real 
izing  what  had  happened,  he  dashed  headlong 
through  the  show-room—heedless  of  Romer,  Peix- 
ada,  and  a  score  of  Peixada's  clerks,  who  stood 
still  and  stared — and  out  into  the  street,  calling, 
"  Ruth,  Ruth,  come  back,  come  back,"  at  the  top  of 
his  voice. 

On  the  curbstone,  hatless,  out  of  breath,  stupe 
fied,  he  halted  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street. 
Ruth  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

Here  he  was  joined  by  Romer  and  Peixada. 

"  What  is  it — what  has  happened  ?  "  Romer 
asked. 

"  What  has  happened  ? "  he  repeated,  dully. 
"  Did — didn't  you  know  ?  She  is  my  wife  !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

•'  WHAT  REST  TO-NIGHT  ?  " 

PUT  yourself  in  his  place.  At  first,  as  we  have 
seen,  he  was  simply  stunned,  bewildered. 
His  breath  was  taken  away,  his  understanding 
baffled.  His  senses  were  thrown  into  disorder. 
It  was  as  if  a  cannon  had  gone  off  under  his  feet ; 
all  was  uproar  and  smoke  and  confusion.  But  by 
degrees  the  smoke  lifted.  The  outlines  of  things 
became  distinct. 

One  stupendous  fact  stared  Arthur  in  the  face. 
Its  magnitude  was  appalling.  Its  proportions 
were  out  of  nature:  The  sight  of  it  froze  his 
blood,  sickened  his  heart,  turned  his  brain  to  stone. 
Judith  Peixada,  the  woman  whom  he  had  pursued, 
insnared,  betrayed  ;  the  woman  whom  he  had 
delivered  over  to  the  clutches  of  the  law,  whom  the 
officers  had  just  dragged  away  from  him,  who  even 
at  this  moment  was  under  lock  and  key  for  a  capi 
tal  offense  in  the  Tombs  prison  ;  the  woman  whom 
he  had  heretofore  regarded  as  an  abandoned  mur 
deress,  beyond  the  pale  of  human  pity,  but  whom 
lie  knew  now,  all  appearances,  all  testimony,  to 
the  contrary  notwithstanding,  now  at  the  eleventh 
hour,  to  be  somehow  as  guiltless  as  the  babe  unborn  -. 


i?6  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

this  woman  was  identical  with  his  wife,  with  Ruth, 
with  the  lady  whom  he  had  wooed  and  married  ! 
He  had  been  groping  in  the  dark.  He  had  brought 
his  own  house  crashing  down  around  his  ears. 

The  vastness  of  the  catastrophe,  its  apparent 
hopelessness,  its  grim,  far-reaching  corollaries,  and 
the  bitter  knowledge  that  he  might  have  prevented 
it,  loomed  up  before  him  like  a  huge,  misshaped 
monster,  by  which  his  earthly  happiness  was 
irretrievably  to  be  destroyed.  Add  to  this  his 
consciousness  of  what  she  thought  of  him,  and 
the  sternest  reader  must  pity  his  condition.  She 
believed  that,  surreptitiously,  he  had  been  prying  into 
the  story  of  her  life — a  story  which  on  more  than 
one  occasion  she  had  volunteered  to  tell  him,  but 
to  which,  with  feigned  magnanimity,  he  had  re 
fused  to  listen,  preferring  to  gather  it  covertly 
from  other  lips.  She  believed  that,  once  having 
discovered  her  identity,  he  had  ceased  to  love  her, 
and  had  entered  ruthlessly  into  a  conspiracy  whose 
object  it  was  to  lure  her  within  reach  of  the  crim 
inal  law.  Unnatural,  impossible,  enormous,  as  such 
baseness  would  be,  she  nevertheless  believed  it  of 
him.  Ignorant  of  the  circumstances,  too  indignant 
to  suffer  an  explanation,  she  had  jumped  to  the 
first  conclusion  that  presented  itself,  and  had  gone 
to  her  prison,  convinced  that  her  husband  had 
played  her  false. 

His  sensations,  of  course,  were  far  too  compli 
cated,  far  too  turbulent,  to  be  easily  disentangled. 
Senseless  hatred  of  Peixada  for  having  crossed  his 


' '  WHA  T  REST  TO-NIGHT?  "  177 

path  ;  senseless  hatred  of  himself  for  having 
accepted  Peixada's  case  ;  self-reproach,  deep  and 
bitter,  for  having  forbidden  her  to  share  her  secret 
with  him  ;  a  wild  desire  to  follow  her,  see  her, 
speak  to  her,  force  her  to  understand  ;  an  intense 
wish  to  be  doing  something  that  might  help  to 
remedy  matters,  without  the  remotest  notion  of 
what  ought  to  be  done  ;  a  remorse  that  bordered 
upon  fury,  in  thinking  of  the  past ;  a  despair  and 
a  terror  that  bordered  upon  madness,  in  thinking 
of  the  future  ;  a  sense  of  impotence  that  lashed 
him  into  frenzy,  in  thinking  of  the  present  ;  these 
were  a  few  of  the  emotions  fermenting  in  Arthur's 
breast.  His  intelligence  was  quite  unhinged.  He 
had  lost  his  reckoning.  He  was  buffeted  hither 
and  thither  by  the  waves  of  thought  and  feeling 
that  smote  upon  him,  like  a  ship  without  a  rudder 
in  a  stormy  sea.  He  wandered  aimlessly  through 
the  streets,  neither  knowing  nor  caring  whither  his 
steps  might  lead  him  :  while  the  people  along  his 
route  stopped  to  stare  and  wonder  at  this  crazy 
man,  who,  without  a  hat,  with  eyes  gleaming 
vacantly  from  their  sockets,  with  the  pallor  of 
death  upon  his  cheek,  hurried  straight  forward, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  His 
blood  coursed  like  liquid  fire  through  his  arteries. 
There  was  the  hubbub  of  bedlam  in  his  ears.  The 
sole  relief  he  could  obtain  came  from  ceaseless 
motion. 

Toward  four  o'clock  that  afternoon  Hetzel,  who 


178  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

lay  prone  upon  his  sofa,  glancing  lazily  at  the  last 
issue  of  his  favorite  magazine,  heard  a  heavy, 
unsteady  footfall  upon  the  stairs.  Next  instant  the 
door  flew  open,  and  Arthur  stood  before  him,  hair 
awry,  clothing  disordered,  countenance  drawn, 
haggard,  and  soiled  with  dust  and  perspiration. 
Hetzel  jumped  up,  and  was  at  his  side  in  no  time. 

"  What — what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  he 
demanded. 

Arthur  tottered  a  short  distance  into  the  room, 
and  sank  upon  a  chair. 

It  flashed  across  Hetzel's  mind  that  his  friend 
might  possibly  be  the  worse  for  drink.  He  laid 
hold  of  an  ammonia  bottle,  and  held  it  to  Arthur's 
nostrils. 

"No— no;  I  don't  need  that,"  Arthur  said, 
waving  Hetzel  away. 

"  Well,  then,  speak.  Tell  me,  what  is  the 
trouble  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Julian,  I  am  ruined.  If— if  you  knew 
what  I  have  done  !  " 

Arthur  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

« Is— has — has  something  happened  to  your 
wife  ? " 

"  Oh,  my  wife,  my  wife,"  groaned  Arthur,  inco 
herently. 

Hetzel  was  perplexed,  puzzled  as  to  what  to  do 
or  say  ;  so,  very  sensibly,  held  his  tongue.  By 
and  by  Arthur  began,  "  My  wife— my  wife— oh, 
Hetzel,  listen." 

Then,  brokenly,  in  half  sentences,  with  frequent 


"  WHA  T  REST  TO-NIGHT?"  179 

pauses,  he  managed  to  give  Hetzel  some  account 
of  the  day's  happening,  winding  up  thus  :  "  You — 
you  see  how  it  is.  She  had  offered  to  tell  me  that 
secret  she  said  she  had,  but  I  wouldn't  let  her.  I 
wanted  her  to  keep  it,  to  show  her  how  much  I 
loved  her.  At  least,  that's  what  I  thought.  But  I 
— I  know  now  that  it  was  my  cowardice.  I  was 
afraid  to  hear  it.  We  were  so  happy,  I  didn't  want 
to  run  any  risk  of  having  our  happiness  lessened 
by — by  thinking  about  unpleasant  things.  My 
ignorance  was  comfortable — I  dreaded  enlighten 
ment.  I  was  afraid  of  what  it  might  be.  I  pre 
ferred  to  keep  it  entirely  out  of  my  head.  God, 
that  was  a  terrible  mistake  !  If  I  had  only  had  the 
courage  to  let  her  speak  !  But  I  was  a  coward.  I 
went  to  work  and  persuaded  myself  that  I  was  act 
ing  from  motives  of  generosity — that  I  wanted  to 
spare  her  the  pain  of  talking  about  it — that  I  loved 
her  too  much  to  care  about  it — and  all  that.  But 
that  wasn't  it  at  all.  It  was  weakness,  and  down 
right  cowardice,  and  evasion  of  my  duty.  I  see  it 
plainly  now — now,  when  worse  has  come  to  worst. 
And  she — she  thinks — she  thinks  that  I  made 
inquiries  behind  her  back,  and  found  out  what  it 
was,  and  got  to  be  friendly  with  Peixada  in  that 
way,  and  then  went  and  put  that  advertisement 
into  the  papers  just  for  the  sake  of — of  humiliating 
her — oh,  God  ! — and  she  thinks  it  was  I  who 
arranged  to  have  her  taken  to  prison.  She  actually 
believes  that — believes  that  I  did  that !  She  wouldn't 
listen  to  me.  Her  indignation  carried  her  away. 


l8o  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

She  doesn't  see  how  unreasonable  it  is.  She  hates 
me  and  despises  me,  and  never  will  care  for  me 
again." 

Hetzel  himself  was  staggered.  Arthur's  tale 
ended,  there  befell  a  long  silence. 

Finally  Arthur  broke  out  petulantly,  "  Well,  why 
don't  you  speak  ?  Why  don't  you  tell  me  what  there 
is  to  be  done?  " 

«  it — I  think  it  is  very  grave.  You  must  let  me 
consider  a  little  while." 

Another  long  silence.  Hetzel,  with  bent  head, 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  room.  At  length, 
coming  to  a  standstill,  he  began,  "  Yes,  it  is  very 
serious.  But  it  is  not— can  not  be— irremediable. 
There  must  be  a  way  out  of  it— of  course  there 
must.  I — I — by  Jove,  let's  look  it  squarely  in  the 
face.  It  will  merely  make  matters  worse  to— to  sit 
still  and  think  about  how  bad  it  is." 

"  What  else  is  there  to  do  ? " 

"  This,"  answered  Hetzel.  "  We  must  get  her 
out  of  prison." 

"  That's  very  easy  to  say." 

"  Well,  we'll  do  it,  no  matter  how  difficult  it  may 
be.  She  mustn't  be  left  in  the  Tombs  an  hour 
longer  than  we  can  help.  After  that,  it  will  be 
time  to  make  her  understand  your  part  in  the 
business.  But  now  we  milst  bend  every  muscle  to 
get  her  out  of  prison.  Whom  do  you  know  who 
will  go  bail  for  her  ?  " 

"  That's  the  worst  of  it.  They  don't  take  bail 
in — in — murder  cases," 


"  WIIA  T  REST  TO-NIGHT?  "  181 

"  They  don't  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  Is  it  never  done  ? 
We  must  move  heaven  and  earth  to  induce  them  to, 
in  this  case." 

"  It's  their  rule.  Romer  might  depart  from  it, 
she  being — who  she  is.  But  I  am  afraid  not." 

"  Well,  we  must  try,  at  any  rate,  and  without 
dillydallying.  Whom  can  you  get  to  go  upon  her 
bond  ?  " 

"  The  only  person  I  know  would  be  Mr.  Flint." 

"  Then  we  must  see  Mr.  Flint  at  once.  Where 
does  Tie  live  ?  Every  minute  is  precious.  We'll  ask 
him  to  be  her  bondsman.  Then  we'll  seek  out 
Romer,  and  persuade  him.  If  he's  got  a  grain  of 
manhood  in  him,  he  won't  refuse.  If  we  make 
haste,  there's  no  reason  why  she  shouldn't  be 
free  before  sundown  to-night.  Come— let's  be 
about  it." 

Hetzel's  speech  really  inspired  Arthur  with  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  hope  and  confidence.  At  all  events, 
it  was  a  relief  to  feel  that  he  was  doing  something  to 
repair  the  mischief  he  had  wrought.  So,  in  a  hat. 
borrowed  from  his  chum,  he  led  the  way  to  Mr. 
Flint's  residence. 

On  the  way  thither  he  began,  "  To  think  that  it 
was  I  who  started  the  authorities  upon  her  track— I 
who  urged  them  to  prosecute  her  !  And  to  think 
how  the  prosecution  may  end  !  " 

Hetzel  retorted,  "End?  I  wish  "the  end  had 
come.  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  end.  I  know  nothing 
of  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  but  I  do  know — 
and  you  know,  and  we  all  know — that  she  never 


182  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

was  guilty  of  murder.  I  know  that  we  can 
prove  it,  too — establish  her  innocence  beyond  a 
shade  of  suspicion.  We  shall  only  need  strength 
and  patience  to  do  that.  You  needn't  worry  about 
the  end." 

"  But  the  meanwhile,  then  !  Meanwhile,  fancy 
what  she  thinks  of  me  !  Fancy  her  despair  !  Mean 
while,  she— she  may  die — or — she  may  go  mad — or 
kill  herself." 

"  You  little  know  your  wife,  if  you  think  that. 
She's  altogether  too  strong  a  woman  to  succumb  to 
misfortune  like  that,  altogether  too  noble  a  woman 
to  do  any  thing  of  that  kind.  And  as  for  her  opin 
ion  of  you,  why,  it  stands  to  reason  that  she'll  see 
the  absurdity  of  it,  as  soon  as  the  first  shock  has 
passed  off.  Just  as  soon  as  she's  in  a  condition  to 
use  her  mind,  and  think  things  over,  she'll  say  to 
herself  that  there's  something  which  she  doesn't 
understand,  and  she'll  ask  you  to  explain.  Take 
my  word  for  it." 

As  they  mounted  Mr.  Flint's  steps,  Arthur  said, 
"  Will— will  you  do  the  talking  ?  I  don't  think  I 
could  bear  to  go  over  the  whole  story  again." 

Mr.  Flint  had  but  just  got  home  from  down-town. 
He  was  now  in  his  bath.  He  sent  word  to  the 
callers  that  he  would  dress  and  be  with  them  as 
quickly  as  he  could.  They  waited  silently  in  the 
darkened  drawing  room,  and  listened  to  the  ticking 
of  an  old-fashioned  hall-clock.  In  about  ten 
minutes  Mr.  Flint  joined  them. 

Hetzel  stated  their  errand.     Of  course,  Mr.  Flint 


' '  WHA  T  RES  T  TO-NIGHT?  "  1 83 

was  horrified  and  amazed.  Of  course,  he  agreed 
eagerly  to  do  every  thing  in  his  power  to  aid 
them. 

"  Now  then,  for  Romer,"  said  Hetzel.  "  Where 
shall  we  find  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Arthur.  "  We  must  look 
in  the  directory." 

They  stopped  at  an  apothecary's  shop,  noted 
Romer's  address,  and  started  for  the  nearest  ele 
vated  railway  station. 

Half  way  there  Mr.  Flint  halted. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  we  can't  depend  upon  the  cars. 
We  must  have  a  carriage.  There's  no  telling  how 
much  traveling  we  shall  have  to  do,  before  this 
business  is  completed." 

They  engaged  a  carriage  at  a  hack-stand  hard-by  ; 
and  in  it  were  jolted  over  the  cobble-stones  to  Mr. 
Romer's  abode. 

Mr.  Romer  was  not  at  home  ! 

For  a  moment  they  gazed  blankly  into  each 
other's  faces.  Finally  Mr.  Flint  said,  "  Where 
has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  "  returned  the  servant. 

"  Is  there  any  body  in  this  house  who  does  know  ?  " 

"  His  mother  might." 

"  Well  then,  we  want  to  see  his  mother." 

The  servant  left  them  in  the  vestibule,  and  went 
up-stairs.  Presently  she  returned,  accompanied  by 
a  corpulent  old  lady. 

"  Did  you  desire  to  see  Mr.  Romer  upon  official 
business  ?  "'inquired  the  old  lady. 


184  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  We  did,  madam — important  official  business," 
said  Mr.  Flint. 

"  Then,  gentlemen,  you  can't  see  him  till  to-mor- 
ro\v  morning  at'  his  office.  He  don't  see  people 
officially  after  office-hours.  If  he  did,  he'd  get 
no  peace." 

Mr.  Flint  accepted  the  situation,  and  was  equal 
to  it. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said  ;  "but  this  is  business 
in  which  Mr.  Romer  is  personally  interested.  We 
must  see  him  to-night.  To-morrow  morning  will  be 
too  late.  If  you  know  where  he  is,  you'd  better  tell 
us.  Otherwise,  I  shan't  answer  for  his  displeasure." 

"  Oh,  in  that  case,"  said  the  old  lady,  quite 
deceived  by  Mr.  Flint's  white  lie,  "  in  that  case, 
you'll  find  him  dining  at  the  *  *  *  Club.  At  least, 
he  said  he  should  dine  there,  when  he  left  the  house 
this  morning." 

"  Thank  you,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Flint.  In  the 
carriage,  "  Bless  my  soul  !  "  he  added.  "  It 
couldn't  have  fallen  out  better.  I'm  a  member  of 
the  *  *  *  Club,  myself." 

They  entered  the  club-house.  Mr.  Flint  led 
Arthur  and  Hetzel  into  the  reception-room,  where, 
for  a  moment,  he  left  them  alone.  Shortly  return 
ing,  "  Mr.  Romer,"  he  announced,  "  is  in  the  bowl 
ing-alley — hasn't  yet  gone  up  to  dinner.  I've  sent 
him  my  card." 

In  due  time  Romer  appeared,  his  face  flushed  by 
recent  exercise.  Catching  sight  of  Arthur,  "  What, 
you — Ripley  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I'd  fust  been  tell- 


1 '  WHA  T  REST  TO-NIGHT ?"  185 

ing  the  fellows  down-stairs  about  —  that  is — I — 
well,  I — I'm  real  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Mr.  Romer,"  said  Mr.  Flint,  plunging  in  medias 
res,  "  I  have  ventured  to  disturb  you  in  your  leisure 
for  the  purpose  of  offering  bail  in  the  case  of  Mrs. 
Ripley,  who,  I  am  informed,  was  taken  in  custody 
to-day  by  your  officers." 

"  Oh,"  said  Romer,  "  a  question  of  bail." 

"  Yes — we  want  to  give  bail  for  the  lady  at  once — 
in  any  amount  that  you  may  wish — but  without 
delay.  She  must  be  out  of  prison  before  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  Hum,"  mused  Romer,  "  I  don't  see  how  you'll 
manage  it." 

"  Manage  it  ?  What  is  there  to  be  managed  ?  I 
offer  bail  ;  it  only  remains  for  you  to  take  it." 

"  Oh,  excuse  me,  but  I  have  no  authority  in  the 
matter — no  more  than  you  yourself.  Mr.  Orson,  my 
chief,  is  the  man  for  you  to  see,  and  he's  out  of  town. 
We  don't  take  bail  generally  in  murder  cases  ;  and  / 
can't  make  an  exception  of  this  one — though  I'd 
like  to,  first  rate,  for  Ripley's  sake.  Perhaps  Mr. 
Orson  might  do  so — in  fact  I  should  advise  him  to 
— but,  as  I've  said,  he's  not  on  hand.  Then,  the 
amount  would  have  to  be  determined,  the  papers 
drawn,  the  procee'dings  submitted  to  a  magistrate 
— and  on  the  whole,  it  couldn't  be  arranged  inside 
of  a  day  or  two,  at  the  shortest." 

"  The  devil  you  say  !  "  cried  Mr.  Flint. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  I'm  sure.  But  that's  about  the 
size  of  it,"  saifl  Romer. 


1 86  MRS.  PEIXADA, 

"And  is— is  there  nothing  to  be  done  ?  Is  this 
lady  to  remain  indefinitely  in  the  Tombs — a  com 
mon  prisoner  ? " 

"Until  you  can  bring  the  question  before  Mr. 
Orson,  at  any  rate." 

"  Well,  where  is  he,  Mr.  Orson  ?  " 

"  He's  on  his  vacation — down  at  Long  Branch." 

"  What  hotel  ?  " 

«The*  *  *." 

"  Good.  Will  you  go  with  me  to  Long  Branch 
to-morrow  morning?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning  ?  No,  I  can't  go  to-mor 
row  morning." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I've  got  a  calendar  on  my  hands." 

"When  can  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  might  arrange  to  run  down  to-morrow  night, 
and  come  back  Wednesday  morning." 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  then,  do  so.  On  what  train 
will  you  start  with  me  to-morrow  night  ?  " 

"  Call  at  my  office  at  four  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon,  and  I'll  let  you  know.  You  may  count, 
Ripley,  upon  my  doing  all  I  can  for  you." 

Mr.  Romer  went  back  to  his  bowling. 

Mr.  Flint  said,  "  Well,  I  don't  see  that  we  can  go 
any  further  to-night." 

"  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  reconcile  ourselves  to 
waiting  and  hoping,"  said  Hetzel. 

"  Good  God  !  Is  she  to — to  pass  the  night  in 
prison  ?  "  cried  Arthur. 

"  Come,    come,    my  dear  boy,"    said   Mr.  Flint. 


' '  WHA  T  RES T  TO-NIGH T?"  187 

"  We  must  make  the  best  of  it."  Turning  to  Het- 
zel.  "  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  think — it  has  just  occurred  to  me — that  we 
ought  to  see  Mrs.  Hart,"  Hetzel  returned. 

"  Well  then,  set  me  down  at  my  house  on  your 
way  up."  And  Mr.  Flint  gave  the  necessary 
instructions  to  the  driver. 

Mrs.  Hart  was  posted  on  her  stoop,  peering  anx 
iously  up  and  down  the  street,  as  the  carriage  con 
taining  Hetzel  and  Arthur  rumbled  into  Beekman 
Place.  When  she  saw  that  the  carriage  had  stopped 
directly  in  front  of  her  domicile,  she  made  a 
rush  toward  it,  pulled  open  the  door,  and  cried, 
"  Ruth,  Ruth — at  last  you  have  come  back  !  I  was 
so  much  worried  !  "  Then,  discovering  her  mis 
take,  "  Oh,  it  is  not  Ruth  ?  Where  can  she  be  ? " 

"  She  is  perfectly  safe,"  said  Hetzel.  "  Come 
into  the  house." 

"  You  have  seen  her  ?  "  questioned  Mrs.  Hart. 
"  She  has  been  gone  such  a  long  time  !  I  was 
frightened  half  to  death.  Tell  me,  why  doesn't  she 
come  home  ?  What — ?  " 

Mrs.  Hart  faltered.  By  this  time  they  had 
reached  the  parlor,  which  was  brilliantly  lighted 
up  ;  and  at  the  spectacle  of  Arthur's  face,  livid 
enough  at  best,  but  rendered  doubly  so  by  the  gas- 
jets,  Mrs.  Hart  faltered. 

"  Let  me  reassure  you.  Mrs.  Ripley  is  perfectly 
safe,"  repeated  Hetzel. 

"  But   then  —  then,  why  does  he  look  like  this  ?  " 


lS8  MRS.   PRIX  A  DA. 

pointing  to  Arthur,  and  laying  a  stress  upon  each 
syllable. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Hetzel,  "  and  compose  your 
self  ;  and  he  will  tell  you."  To  Arthur,  "  Now, 
Arthur,  try  to  command  your  feelings,  and  tell 
Mrs.  Hart  all  about  it." 

As  best  he  could,  he  told  Mrs.  Hart  as  much  as 
was  needful  to  make  her  comprehend  the  state  of 
affairs. 

Mrs.  Hart  was  nervous  enough  at  the  outset.  As 
Arthur's  story  proceeded,  her  nervousness  became 
more  and  more  ungovernable.  When  she  learned 
that  Ruth  had  been  carried  off  to  prison,  she  cried, 
"  Oh,  take  me  to  her  at  once.  I  must  go  to  her  at 
once.  She  must  not  be  left  alone  there  all  night." 

"  It  would  be  impossible  to  obtain  admittance  at 
this  hour,"  said  Hetzel. 

But  saying  it  did  not  suffice.  Mrs.  Hart  insisted. 
"  Oh,  they  would  surely  let  me  in.  She — she  will 
die  if  she  is  left  there  alone." 

Hetzel  undertook  to  comfort  her,  and  to  bring 
her  around  to  reason.  Finally  she  was  sufficiently 
calm  to  listen  to  the  rest  of  what  Arthur  had  to 
say. 

His  tale  complete,  Hetzel  took  up  the  sequel, 
explaining  how  they  had  tried  to  have  her  liberated 
on  bail,  how  Mr.  Flint  was  to  visit  Mr.  Orson  at  Long 
Branch  to-morrow  night,  and  going  on  to  express 
his  assurance  that  in  a  week's  time  at  the  furthest 
the  storm  would  have  blown  over,  and  made  way 
for  calm  and  sunshine. 


"  WHA  T  REST  TO-NIGHT?  "  189 

For  a  long  while  Mrs.  Hart  could  only  cry  and 
utter  inarticulate  syllables  of  grief. 

By  and  by  Hetzel  asked,  "  Can  you  tell  us  how  she 
came  to  go  down  there — to  Mr.  Peixada's  place  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Hart.  "  It  was  my  fault. 
I  advised  her  to.  You  see,  this  is  the  way  it  hap 
pened.  After  Arthur  had  left  the  house  this  morn 
ing,  Ruth  picked  up  the  newspaper.  She  was  just 
glancing  over  it — not  reading  any  thing  in  particu 
lar—when  all  at  once,  she  gave  a  little  scream.  I 
asked  her  what  it  was  ;  and  she  said,  '  Look  here.' 
Then  she  showed  me  the  advertisement  that  he  has 
spoken  of.  '  Would  you  pay  any  attention  to  it  ? ' 
she  asked.  I  read  it,  and  considered,  and  then 
asked  her  what  action  her  impulse  prompted  her 
to  take.  She  said  that  she  hardly  knew.  If 
there  was  something  they  wanted  of  her,  which 
was  right  and  proper,  she  supposed  she  ought  to  do 
it  ;  but  she  hated  to  have  any  dealings  with  Peix- 
ada.  '  I  thought  Judith  Peixada  had  been  dead  two 
years,'  she  said  ;  'but  now  she  comes  to  life  again 
just  when  she  is  least  expected.'  I  suggested  that 
she  might  write  a  letter.  But  on  thinking  it  over 
she  said,  '  No.  Perhaps  the  best  thing  I  can  do 
will  be  to  go  at  once  and  beard  the  lion  in  his  den. 
I  shall  worry  about  it  otherwise.  I  may  as  well 
know  right  away  what  it  is.  After  lunch  I'll  go 
down-town  and  call  upon  Mr.  Peixada  ;  and  then 
I'll  surprise  Arthur  in  his  office,  and  bring  him 
home.'  Then  I— I  said  I  thought  that  was  the 
best  thing  she  could  possibly  do," 


19°  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Mrs.  Hart  interrupted  herself  to  dry  her  eyes. 
Presently,  "  You  see,  it  was  my  fault,"  she  resumed. 
"  I  ought  to  have  suspected  that  they  meant  foul 
play  ;  but  instead,  I  let  her  walk  straight  into 
their  pitfall.  Right  after  lunch,  at  about  half- 
past  one,  she  started  out.  She  promised  to  be 
home  again  by  four  o'clock.  When  she  didn't  come 
and  didn't  come,  I  began  to  get  more  and  more 
anxious  about  her.  I  was  almost  beside  myself, 
when  at  last  you  arrived." 

Hetzel  said,  "  It  is  bad  enough  to  think  of  her 
being  locked  up  in  prison,  but  that  is  not  the  worst, 
I'm  sure  we  can  get  her  out  of  prison  ;  and 
although  I  don't  know  -the  first  thing  about  the 
case,  I'm  sure  that  we  can  prove  her  innocence. 
The  trouble  now  is  this.  She's  suffering  all 
manner  of  torments,  because  she  totally  miscon 
ceives  her  husband's  part  in  the  transaction.  Our 
endeavor  must  be  to  put  her  husband's  conduct  be 
fore  her  in  the  right  light — make  her  understand 
that  he  acted  all  along  in  good  faith,  and  without 
the  faintest  suspicion  that  she  and  Judith  Peixada 
were  one  and  the  same.  She  was  so  much  incensed 
at  him  this  afternoon,  that  she  wouldn't  let  him  jus 
tify  himself.  We  must  set  this  mistake  right  to 
morrow  morning.  I  think  that  you,  Mrs.  Hart, 
had  better  visit  her  as  early  to-morrow  as  they 
will  admit  you,  and — " 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  interpolated  Mrs.  Hart. 

"—And  tell  her  Arthur's  side  of  the  story.  When 
she  understands  that,  she'll  feel  like  another  woman. 


'•  WHA  T  REST  TO-NIGHT ?"  191 

Then  he  can  see  her,  and  talk  to  her,  and  find  out 
the  facts  of  the  case,  and  lay  them  before  the 
authorities.  It  seems  to  me  that  this  is  the  plain 
course  to  take." 

"  And  meanwhile,  meanwhile  !  "  cried  Arthur, 
wringing  his  hands. 

"  Come,"  said  Hetzel,  "  show  your  grit.  Look 
at  Mrs.  Hart.  See  how  bravely  she  bears  up. 
Do  you  want  to  make  it  harder  for  every  one  by 
your  example  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Hart  isn't  her  husband,"  Arthur  re 
torted. 

Then  he  bit  his  lip  and  kept  silence.  Mrs.  Hart 
sat  bolt  upright,  staring  at  vacancy,  with  brows 
knitted  into  a  tight  frown.  Hetzel  tugged  away  at 
his  whiskers,  and  was  evidently  thinking  hard. 

By  and  by  the  door-bell  rang.    A  servant  entered. 

"  Here  is  a  note,  ma'am,  a  man  just  left,"  she 
said  to  Mrs.  Hart. 

Mrs.  Hart  read  the  note  and  passed  it  to  Hetzel. 
It  was  written  upon  a  half  sheet  of  paper,  headed 
in  heavy  black  print,  "  CITY  PRISON."  It  was 
brief  :— 

"  MY  DEAR,  DEAR  FRIEND  : — You  must  be  anx 
ious  about  me.  I  have  tried  hard  to  get  word  to 
you.  At  last  they  have  found  a  messenger  for  me. 
You  see  by  this  letter-heading  where  I  am.  The 
advertisement  was  a  trick.  But  it  was  worse, 
much  worse,  than  you  can  fancy.  If  I  could  only 
see  you  !  Will  you  come  to  me  to-morrow  morn 
ing?  I  am  too  heartsick  to  write,  RUTH," 


J92  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Hetzel  was  returning  the  note  to  Mrs.  Hart, 
when  Arthur  stretched  out  his  hand  for  it. 

"  Am  I  not  to  read  what  my  own  wife  has 
written  ?  "  he  demanded  fiercely. 

He  took  in  its  contents  at  a  glance.  Even  this 
sheet  of  common  prison  paper  was  sweet  with  that 
faint,  evanescent  perfume  that  clung  to  everything 
Ruth's  fingers  touched.  Letting  it  drop  to  the 
floor,  "I  can't  stand  it,"  he  cried  in  a  loud  voice, 
and  left  the  room. 

They  heard  the  vestibule  door  slam  behind 
him. 

"  He  is  mad,"  said  Mrs.  Hart.  "  He  will  do  him 
self  an  injury." 

"  No,  he  won't— not  if  I  can  stop  him,"  said 
Hetzel ;  and  he  hurried  forth  upon  Arthur's  track. 

But  he  came  back  in  a  little  while,  panting  for 
breath. 

"  I  ran  as  far  as  First  Avenue,"  he  explained  ; 
"  but  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  out  of  sight! 
Never  mind.  He'll  come  home  all  right.  No 
doubt  he  needs  to  be  alone." 

Once  out  of  doors,  Arthur  dashed  blindly  ahead. 
It  was  a  sultry  night.  The  odor  of  ailanthus  trees 
hung  heavy  on  the  air.  Many  people  were  abroad. 
On  the  door-steps  of  most  of  the  houses,  the 
inmates  sat,  chatting,  smoking,  dozing,  airing  them 
selves.  The  city  had  given  itself  over  to  rest  and 
recreation.  Through  open  windows  escaped  bursts 
of  song  and  laughter  and  piano  playing.  Young 


"  WHA  T  REST  TO-NIGHT?  "  193 

girls,  dressed  in  white,  promenaded  on  the  arms  of 
young  men  who  puffed  cigarettes. 

Arthur  had  no  fixed  destination.  He  walked, 
because  walking  was  a  counter-irritant.  He  walked 
rapidly,  and  took  no  notice  of  the  sights  and  sounds 
round  about  him.  He  remembers  dimly  that 
he  left  the  respectable  quarters  of  the  city  far 
behind,  and  entered  a  maze  of  crooked,  squalid, 
foul-smelling  streets.  Then,  he  remembers  that  all 
at  once  he  looked  up  and  wondered  where  he  was. 
And  there,  a  blot  upon  the  sky,  there  loomed  the 
prison  that  held  his  beloved. 

He  remained  within  eyeshot  of  this  dismal  struc 
ture  till  daybreak,  when  at  last  he  went  back  to 
Beekman  Place. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

AN    ORDEAL. 

A  RTHUR  ran  up  the  steps  of  Mrs.  Hart's 
11  house,  and,  opening  the  door  with  his  latch-key, 
entered  the  parlor.  The  gas  was  burning  at  full 
head.  Hetzel  was  stretched  at  length  in  an  easy- 
chair,  his  hands  thrust  deep  into  his  trowsers- 
pockets.  At  sight  of  Arthur,  he  rose  and  advanced 
on  tip-toe  to  meet  him. 

"  Hush-sh,"  he  said,  putting  his  finger  to  his  lips. 
He  pointed  to  the  sofa,  upon  which  Mrs.  Hart 
lay,  asleep.  Then  he  took  Arthur's  arm,  and  led 
him  through  the  hall  into  the  back  room.  There 
they  seated  themselves. 

"I  didn't  expect  to  find  you  up,"  said  Arthur. 

"  We  haven't  been  abed,"  said  Hetzel. 

"  I  suppose  nothing  new  has  happened  ?  You 
haven't  heard  from  her  again  ?  " 

"  No." 

They  remained  silent  for  some  time. 

Hetzel  began,  "  After  you  left  in  that  abrupt 
way,  Mrs.  Hart,  who  had  borne  up  wonderfully, 
quite  went  to  pieces.  She  has  been  in  a  half  hys 
terical  condition  all  night.  I  persuaded  her  to  lie 
down  about  an  hour  ago,  and  now  she's  asleep." 


AN  ORDEAL.  195 

Arthur  vouchsafed  no  comment. 

"  We  have  had  a  lot  of  reporters  pestering  us, 
too,"  Hetzel  went  on.  "  Of  course  I  refused  to  see 
them,  one  and  all." 

At  this  Arthur  started. 

"  Then  I  suppose  the  whole  thing  is  in  the 
papers,  curse  them  !  "'he  cried. 

"  I  am  afraid  so." 

"  Haven't  you  looked  to  see  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  time  yet.  The  papers  haven't  been 
delivered  yet." 

Arthur  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"Not  going — run  down,"  he  said;  "  but  of 
course  it's  time.  It  must  be  seven  o'clock." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  it  was  so  late.  I'll  go  see." 
Hetzel  went  away.  Presently  he  returned,  saying, 
"  Surely  enough,  here  they  are." 

"  Well  ?  "  queried  Arthur. 

Hetzel  undid  the  newspapers,  and  commenced 
to  look  them  over. 

"  Yes,  it's  all  here  —a  column  of  it — on  the  front 
page,"  he  groaned. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Arthur,  extending  his  hand. 

But  the  head-lines  were  as  much  as  he  had  the 
heart  to  read.  He  threw  the  sheet  angrily  to  the 
floor  and  began  to  stride  back  and  forth  across  the 
room. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Hetzel,  "  or  you'll  wake  Mrs. 
Hart." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,"  assented  Arthur  ;  and  did  as 
he  was  bidden. 


*96  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

By  and  by,  "  Do  you  know  at  what  hours 
visitors  are  admitted  ? "  Hetzel  asked. 

"  I — I  think  between  ten  and  four." 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  want  a  carriage  here  at  half- 
past  nine.  I'll  send  out  now  to  order  one." 

For  a  second  time  Hetzel  left  the  room.  When  he 
got  back,  he  said  that  he  had  dispatched  a  servant 
to  the  nearest  livery  stable. 

At  this  juncture  Mrs.  Hart  appeared,  very  old 
and  gray  and  pallid,  She  came  in  without  speaking, 
and  took  a  chair  near  the  window. 

"  I  hope  your  nap  has  refreshed  you,"  Hetzel 
ventured. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  replied  dismally,"!  suppose  it 
has. — Where  have  you  been,  Arthur  ? " 

"  Nowhere — only  out  of  doors." 

All  three  held  their  peace. 

Presently  the  servant  returned  from  her  errand, 
and  told  Hetzel  that  the  carnage  would  be  on  hand 
at  the  proper  time. 

"  Bridget,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  "  you'd  better  brew 
some  coffee,  and  serve  it  up  here." 

When  Bridget  had  gone,  "  You  have  sent  for  a 
carriage  ?  At  what  hour  are  we  to  start  ?  "  Mrs. 
Hart  inquired. 

"  At  half-past  nine." 

"  Then,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  go  up-stairs 
and  get  ready." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Hetzel.  "  And  while  you're 
about  it,  you'd  better  put  a  few  things  together  to 
take  to  her,  don't  you  think  ?  " 


A N  ORDEAL.  197 

"  Why,  she  won't  need  them.  She'll  be  with  us 
again  to-day,  will  she  not  ?  " 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Flint  can't  see  Mr.  Orson  till 
this  evening.  So,  it  seems  to  me " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  had  forgotten,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  gulp 
ing  down  a  sob,  and  left  the  room. 

During  her  absence,  Bridget  brought  in  the  cof 
fee. 

"  Take  a  cup  up  to  your  mistress,"  said  Hetzel. 

Then  he  poured  out  a  cup  for  Arthur.  He  had 
to  use  some  persuasion  to  induce  him  to  drink  it  ; 
but  eventually  he  prevailed.  Having  swallowed  a 
portion  for  himself,  he  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Better  try  one,"  he  said,  with  a  woful  attempt 
at  cheerfulness,  offering  the  bunch  to  Arthur. 
"There's  nothing  like  tobacco  to  brace  a  man  up." 

But  Arthur  declined. 

Half-past  nine  was  leisurely  in  arriving.  At  last, 
however,  they  heard  the  grinding  of  carriage-wheels 
upon  the  pavement  outside. 

They  climbed  into  the  carriage.  The  coachman 
cracked  his  whip.  Off  they  drove. 

That  drive  was  a  purgatory.  At  its  start  their 
hearts  were  oppressed  by  a  nameless  terror.  It 
had  intensified  into  a  breathless  agony,  before  their 
drive  was  over.  Their  foreheads  were  wet  with 
cold  perspiration.  Their  lips  were  ashen.  As 
they  turned  from  Broadway  into  Leonard  Street, 
and  knew  that  they  were  nearing  their  journey's 
end,  each  of  them  instinctively  winced,  and  gasped, 
and  shuddered.  When  the  carriage  finally  drew 


X98  MAS.  PEIXADA. 

up  before  the  prison  entrance,    not  one  of  them 
dared  to  speak  or  to  stir. 

At  last  Hetzel  said,  "Well,  here  we  are." 

No  answer. 

After  an  interval,  he  went  on,  "  Mrs.  Hart,  you, 
of  course,  will  go  in  first.  You  must  explain  to  her 
about  Arthur,  and  induce  her  to  see  him.  You  can 
send  word,  or  come  back,  when  she's  ready  to." 

With  this,  he  opened  the  carriage  door,  dis 
mounted,  and  helped  Mrs.  Hart  to  follow.  Arthur 
remained  behind.  He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  little, 
and  held  his  hands  to  his  forehead.  His  hands 
were  cold  and  damp.  His  forehead  was  now  dry 
and  hot  ;  and  he  could  count  the  pulsations  of  the 
arteries  in  his  temples.  His  throat  ached  with  a 
great  lump.  He  mechanically  watched  the  people 
pass  on  the  sidewalk,  and  wondered  whether  any  of 
them  were  as  miserably  unhappy  as  he.  The  myriad 
noises  of  the  street  smote  his  ears  with  a  strange 
sharpness,  and  caused  him  from  time  to  time  to 
start  and  turn  even  paler  than  he  had  been.  Grad 
ually,  however,  he  began  to  lose  consciousness  of 
outward  things,  and  to  think,  think,  think.  He  had 
plenty  to  think  about.  Pretty  soon,  he  was  fathoms 
deep  in  a  brown  study. 

He  was  aroused  by  the  reappearance  of  Hetzel 
and  Mrs.  Hart.  They  got  into  the  carriage.  The 
carriage  moved. 

"  What — what  is  the  trouble  now  ? "  Arthur 
asked. 

"  Damn  them  for  a  set  of  insolent  scoundrels  !  " 


AN  ORDEAL.  *99 

Hetzel  blurted  out,  forgetful  of  Mrs.  Hart's  sex. 
"  They  wouldn't  let  us  in." 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  they  insist  on  a  tangle  of  red-tape  —  say 
we  must  have  passes,  and  so  forth,  from  the  district- 
attorney." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  Well,  we're  on  our  way  to  procure  them  now." 

But  at  the  district-attorney's  office  there  was 
fresh  delay.  The  clerk  whose  duty  it  was  to  make 
out  the  passes,  had  not  yet  reached  his  post  ;  and 
none  of  his  colleagues  seemed  anxious  to  play  the 
lieutenant's  part. 

Hetzel  lost  his  temper. 

"  Come,  what  are  you  lazy  louts  paid  for,  I'd  like 
to  know  ?  "  he  thundered.  "  Where's  your  master  ? 
Where's  Mr.  Romer  ?  I'll  see  whether  you're  to 
sit  around  here  in  your  shirt-sleeves,  grinning,  or 
not.  I  want  some  one  of  you  to  wait  on  me,  or  I'll 
make  it  hot  for  the  whole  pack." 

He  got  his  passes. 

They  drove  back  to  the  Tombs.  This  time  Mrs. 
Hart  encountered  no  obstacles  to  her  entrance. 

Hetzel  rejoined  Arthur  in  the  carriage.  A  quar 
ter-hour  elapsed  before  either  spoke. 

Arthur  said,  "  She  —she's  staying  a  long  while." 

"  Oh,"  responded  Hetzel,  "  they've  got  such  a  lot 
to  talk  about,  you  know." 

At  the  end  of  another  quarter-hour,  more  or  less, 
Arthur  complained,  "  What  under  heaven  can  be 
keeping  her  so  long  ?  " 


200  MRS.  PE1XADA. 

"  Be  patient,"  said  Hetzel.  "  It'll  do  no  good  to 
fret." 

By  and  by  Arthur  started  up.  "  By  Jove,  I  can't 
wait  any  longer.  I  can't  endure  this  waiting.  I  must 
go  in  myself,"  he  cried. 

But  just  at  this  moment  Mrs.  Hart  issued  forth. 

Hetzel  ran  to  meet  her. 

She  was  paler  than  ever.     Her  eyelids  were  red. 

"  We  may  as  well  drive  home,"  she  said.  "  She 
won't  see  him." 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  why  not  ?  "  asked  Hetzel. 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  as  we  drive  along." 

"  But  how — how  shall  we  break  the  news  to  him  ?  " 

«  You — you'd  better  speak  to  him  now,  before  I 
get  in." 

Hetzel  approached  the  carriage  window. 

"  Arthur,"  he  began,  awkwardly,  "  try— try  to 
keep  quiet,  and  not — the — the  fact  is— 

«  Is  she  ill  ?  Is  she  dead  ?  "  cried  Arthur,  with 
mad  alarm. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  boy  ;  of  course  not.  Only- 
only — just  now — she — " 

"  She  refuses  to  see  me  ?  " 

«  Well—" 

"  I  was  fully  prepared  for  that.  I  knew  she 
would." 

His  head  sank  upon  his  breast. 

They  had  covered  half  the  distance  between  the 
Tombs  and  Beekman  Place,  when  at  length  Arthur 
said,  "  Please,  Mrs.  Hart,  please  tell  me  about  your 
visit." 


AN  ORDEAL.  20 1 

Mrs.  Hart  shot  a  glance  at  Hetzel,  as  much  as  to 
ask,  "  Shall  I  ? "  He  nodded  affirmatively. 

"  There  isn't  much  to  tell,"  she  began.  "  They 
led  me  down  a  lot  of  stone  corridors,  and  through  a 
yard,  and  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  across  a  long 
gallery,  past  numberless  little,  black,  iron  doors; 
and  at  last  we  stopped  before  one  of  the  doors,  and 
the  woman  who  was  with  me  called  out, '  Peixada, 
alias  Ripley  '—only  think  of  the  indignity  !— and 
after  she  had  called  it  out  that  way  two  or  three 
times,  a  little  panel  in  the  door  flew  open,  and  there 
—there  was  Ruth's  face— so  pale,  so  sad,  and  her 
eyes  so  large  and  awful — it  made  my  heart  sink.  I 
supposed  of  course  they  were  going  to  let  me  in  ; 
but  no,  they  wouldn't.  The  prison  woman  said  I 
must  stand  there,  and  say  what  I  had  to  say  to  the 
prisoner  in  her  presence." 

Mrs.  Hart  paused,  and  swallowed  a  sob. 
"  Well,  I  stood  there,  so  frightened  at  the  sight 
of  Ruth's  face,  that  I  didn't  know  what  to  do;  till 
by  and  by  she  said,  very  softly,  *  Aren't  you  going 
to  kiss  me,  dear  ? '  Oh,  her  voice  was  so  sweet 
and  sad,  I  couldn't  help  it,  but  I  burst  out  crying ; 
and  she  cried,  too  ;  and  she  put  her  face  up  close 
to  the  open  place  in  the  door  ;  and  then  we  kissed 
each  other  ;  and  then — then  we  just  cried  and 
cried,  and  couldn't  speak  a  word." 

The  memory  of  her  former  tears  brought  fresh 
tears  to  Mrs.  Hart's  eyes.  Drying  them,  she  went 
on,  "  We  were  crying  like  that,  and  never  thinking 
of  any  thing  else,  when  the  prison  woman  said,  '  If 


202  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

you  have  any  communication  to  make  to  the  pris 
oner,  you'd  better   make  it  right  off,  because  you 
can't  stay  here  all  day,  you  know.'     Then  I  began 
about  Arthur.     I  said,  «  Ruth,  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
that  Arthur  is  down  outside,  and  that  he  wishes  to 
see  you.'     Oh,  if  you  could  have  seen  the  look  that 
came  upon    her  face  !     It    made   me  tremble,     i 
thought  she  was  going  to  faint,  or  something.     But 
no.     She  said,  very  calmly,  «  It  would  do  no  good 
for  me  to  see  Arthur.     It  would  only  pain  him  and 
myself.     I  do  not  wish  to  see   him.     I  could  not 
bear  to  see  him.'     That  is  what  she  said." 

"  Go  on,  go  on,"  groaned   Arthur,  as  Mrs.    Hart 
paused. 

"  She  said    she    didn't    want    to    see  you,  and 
couldn't  bear  to.     I  said,  *  But,  Ruth,  you  ought  to 
see  him.     You  and  he  ought  to  speak  together,  and 
try  to  understand  each  other.'     She  said,  '  There  is 
no  misunderstanding   between  us.      I    understand 
every  thing.'— 'Oh,  no,'  said  I,  '  no,  you  don't.  There 
is  something  which   he  wants  to  explain  to  you— 
about  how  he  came  to  be  associated  with  Mr.  Peix- 
ada.'— '  I  don't  care  about  that,'  said  she.  '  There  are 
some  things  which  he  can  not  explain.     I  am  miser 
able  enough  already.     I  need   all  my  strength.     1 
should  break  down,  if  I  were  to  see   him. '--But   I 
said,  '  Consider  him,  Ruth.     You  can't  imagine  how 
unhappy  he    is.     He    loves    you   so  much.     It   is 
breaking  his  heart.'—'  Loves  me  ? '  she  said.  '  Does 
he  still  pretend  to  love  me  ?     Oh,  no,  he  does  not 
love  me.     He  never  loved  me.     If  he  had  loved  me 


AN  ORDEAL.  203 

he  would  never  have  done  what  he  did.  Oh,  no,  no 
— I  can  not  see  him,  I  will  not  see  him.  You  may 
tell  him  that  I  said  it  would  do  no  good  for  us  to 
see  each  other.  Every  thing  is  over  and  past 
between  him  and  me.'  She  had  said  all  this  very 
calmly.  But  then  suddenly  she  began  to  cry  again: 
and  she  was  crying  and  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break,  and  she  couldn't  speak  a  word,  and  all 
I  could  do  was  to  try  and  soothe  her  a  little,  when 
the  prison  woman  said  I  must  come  away.  I  tried  to 
get  her  to  let  me  stay — offered  her  money  -  but  she 
said,  '  No.  It  is  dinner  time  now.  No  visitors  are 
allowed  in  the  building  at  dinner  time.  You  must 
go.' — So,  I  had  to  leave  Ruth  alone." 

"  It  is  as  I  supposed,"  moaned  Arthur.  "  She 
hates  me.  All  is  over  and  past  between  us,  she 
said." 

"  Nonsense,  man,"  protested  Hetzel.  "It  is  merely 
a  question  of  time.  Mrs.  Hart  simply  didn't  have 
time  enough.  If  she  had  been  allowed  to  stay  a 
half  hour  longer,  your  wife  would  have  loved  you 
as  much  as  ever.  She  does  love  you  as  much  as 
ever,  now.  But  her  heart  is  crushed  and  sore,  and 
all  she  feels  is  the  pain.  It's  less  than  twenty-four 
hours  since  the  whole  thing  happened  ;  she  hasn't 
had  time  enough  yet  to  think  it  over.  We're 
going  to  have  her  home  again  to-morrow  ;  and  if 
between  the  three  of  us  we  can't  undeceive  her  res 
pecting  your  relations  to  Peixada— bring  her  to 
hear  and  comprehend  the  truth— I'll  be  mightily 
surprised." 


2C4  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

They  drove  for  some  blocks  in  silence. 

"  Did  you  give  her  her  things,  Mrs.  Hart?" 
Arthur  asked,  abruptly. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Hart  ;  "  they  wouldn't  let  me. 
I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  they  made  me  empty  my 
pockets  before  they  led  me  to  her.  The  prison 
woman  took  the  things,  and  said  she  would  examine 
them,  and  then  give  her  such  as  were  not  against 
rules." 

"  And — and  it  was  a  regular  prison  cell  in  which 
she  was  confined  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  it  was  horrible.  The  walls  were 
whitewashed,  and  there  was  only  one  little  bit  of  a 
grated  window,  and  the  floor  was  of  stone,  and  the 
bed  was  a  narrow  iron  cot,  and  she  had  just  a 
wretched,  old,  wooden  stool  to  sit  on,  and  the  air 
was  something  frightful." 

"  Did  you  tell  her  of  our  efforts  to  get  bail  for 
her  ? "  asked  Hetzel. 

"  Dear  me,  I  forgot  all  about  it." 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  write  her  a  note,  when  we 
get  home.  I'll  send  a  messenger  with  it." 

"  All  right,  I  will,"  acquiesced  Mrs.  Hart. 

But  in  Beekman  Place  she  said  to  Hetzel  : 
"  About  that  note  you  spoke  of — I  don't  feel  that  I 
can  trust  myself  to  write.  I'm  afraid  I  should  say 
something  that — that  might — I  mean  I  think  I 
couldn't  write  to  her.  I  should  break  down,  if  I 
tried.  Won't  you  do  it,  instead  ?  " 

"  One  word  from  you  would  comfort  her  more 
than  a  dozen  from  me." 


AN  ORDEAL.  205 

"  But  it  is  such  hard  work  for  me  to  keep 
control  of  myself,  as  it  is— and  if  I  should  under 
take  to  write — I — I— 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Hetzel.  "  Can  you  let  me 
have  pen  and  paper  ?  " 

What  he  wrote  ran  thus  : — 
"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  RIPLEY  :  I  only  want  to  send 
you  this  line  or  two,  to  tell  you  that  your  friends  are 
hard  at  work  in  your  behalf,  and  that  before  this 
time  to-morrow  we  mean  to   have  you   safe    and 
sound  at  home.    Meanwhile,  for  Arthur's  sake,  try 
to  bear  up  and  be  of  good  cheer.     The  poor  boy 
is  breaking  his  heart  about  you.     All  I  can  do  for 
him  is  to  promise  that  in  a  few  hours,  now,  he  shall 
hold  you  in  his  arms  again.     I  should  like  to  make 
clear  to  you  in  this  note  how  it  was  that  he  seemed 
to  have  had  a  share  in  the  trickery  by  which  you 
were  betrayed  ;  but  I  am  afraid   I  might  make  a 
bungle  of  it  ;  and  after  all,  it  is  best  that  you  should 
hear  the  tale  from  his  own  lips,   as  you  surely  will 
to-morrow  morning.     I  beg  and  pray  that  you  will 
strive  hard  not  to  let  this  thing  have  any  grave 
effect   upon    your  health.     That    is  what  I    most 
dread.     Of   other  consequences  I  have  no  fear — 
and  you  need  have  none.    If  you  will  only  exert 
your  strength  to  bear  it  a  little  while   longer,   and 
come   home  to  us    to-morrow  sound  and   well    in 
health,  why,  we  shall  all    live  to  forget  that    this 
break  in  our  happiness  ever  occurred.     I  think   I 
feel  the  full  pain  of  your  position.     I  know  that  it 
is  of  a  sort  to  unnerve  the  staunchest  of  us.     But  I 


206  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

know  too  that  you  have  uncommon  powers  at  your 
command  ;  and  I  beg  of  you,  for  your  own  sake, 
for  Arthur's,  for  Mrs.  Hart's,  to  call  upon  them  now. 

"  Weather  the  storm  for  one    more   night,  and 
then  I  vouch  for  the  coming  blue  skies. 

"  God  bless  you  and  be  with  you  ! 

"  JULIAN  HETZEL." 

"  I  want  to  add  a  postscript,"  said  Arthur,  when 
Hetzel  laid  down  his  pen. 

"  Do   you   think   you'd  better  ?"  asked    Hetzel, 
dubiously. 

"  Let    me    have  it,     will    you  ?  "  cried  Arthur, 
savagely  ;  and  held  out  his  hand  for  the  paper. 

Hetzel  gave  it  to  him.     On  the  blank  space  that 
was    left    he     wrote  :      "  Ruth— my    darling— for 
God's    sake,    overcome    your  anger    against  me. 
Don't  judge  me  before  you  have  heard  my  defense. 
Be  merciful,  Ruth,  and   wait  till  you  have   let  me 
speak  and  justify  myself,  before  taking  for  granted 
that  I  have  been  guilty  of  treachery   toward  you. 
Oh,  Ruth,    how  can    you  condemn   me    on  mere 
appearances  ?— me,    your    husband.     Oh,    please, 
Ruth,  please  write  me  an   answer,  saying  that   you 
have  got  over  the  anger  you  felt  for  me   yesterday 
and  this  morning,  and  that  you  will  suspend  judg 
ment  of  me  till  I  have  had  a  chance  to  clear  my- 
self.     I  can  not  write  my  explanation  here,  now.    I 
am  not   calm  enough,    and  it   is   too   long  a  story. 
Oh,  Ruth,  I  shall   go  mad,  unless  you  will  promise 
to    wait  about    condemning  me.      Write   me    an 
answer   at  once,    and    send    it   by  the  messenger 


AN  ORDEAL.  207 

who  brings  you  this.  I  can  not  say  any  thing  else 
except  that  I  love  you.  Oh,  you  will  kill  me,  if 
you  go  on  believing  what  you  told  Mrs.  Hart — 
that  I  do  not  love  you.  You  must  believe  that  I 
love  you — you  know  I  love  you.  Say  in  your 
answer  that  you  know  I  love  you.  I  love  you  as  I 
never  loved  you — more  than  I  ever  loved  you 
before.  Oh,  little  Ruth,  please  cheer  up,  and  don't  be 
unhappy.  If  this  thing  should  result  seriously  for 
your  health,  I — I  shall  die.  Dear  little  Ruth,  just 
try  to  keep  up  until  to-morrow  morning.  If  you 
will  only  come  home  all  right  to-morrow  morning, 
then  our  sufferings  will  not  count.  Ruth  !  " 

Hetzel  said,  "  I'll  run  out  to  the  corner,  and 
find  some  one  to  carry  this  to  her." 

He  went  off.  Mrs.  Hart  and  Arthur  sat  silent 
and  motionless  in  the  parlor.  In  due  time  Hetzel 
got  back.  He  too  took  a  seat  and  kept  his  peace. 
So  the  afternoon  wore  away.  No  one  spoke. 
Their  minds  were  busy  enough,  God  knows  ;  but 
busy  with  thoughts  which  they  dared  not  shape  in 
speech.  The  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  ticked  with 
painful  distinctness.  Street -sounds  penetrated 
the  closed  windows — children's  voices,  at  their 
games — the  cries  of  fruit  venders — hand-organ 
music — the  noise  of  wheels  on  paving  stones — and 
reminded  the  listeners  that  the  life  of  the  city  was 
tfoing  on  very  much  as  usual.  Now  and  then  a 
steam-whistle  shrieked  on  the  river.  Now  and 
then  one  of  our  tongue-tied  trio  drew  a  deep, 
audible  sigh.  Ruth's  piano,  in  the  corner,  was 


208  MRS.  PRTXADA. 

open.  On  the  rack  lay  a  sheet  of  music,  and  with 
it  a  tiny  white  silk  handkerchief  that  she  had 
doubtless  thrown  down  carelessly,  and  left  there, 
the  day  before.  When  Arthur  perceived  this,  he 
got  up,  crossed  the  floor,  took  possession  of  it,  and 
tucked  it  into  his  pocket. 

Towards  six  o'clock  the  door-bell  rang.  All 
three  started  violently.  The  same  notion  occurred 
to  all  three  at  once. 

"  It — it  is  from  her.  It  is  her  answer,"  gasped 
Arthur,  and  began  to  breathe  quickly. 

Hetzel  went  to  the  door.  After  what  seemed  an 
eternity  to  those  he  had  left  behind,  he  returned. 

"  No,"  he  said,  replying  to  their  glances  ;  "  not 
yet.  It  is  only  your  office-boy,  Arthur.  He  has 
brought  you  your  day's  mail." 

Arthur  apathetically  commenced  to  look  over 
the  envelopes.  At  last  he  came  to  one  which  he 
appeared  on  the  point  of  opening.  But  then 
abruptly  he  seemed  to  change  his  mind,  and  tossed 
it  to  Hetzel. 

"  Read  that,  will  you,  and  tell  me  what  he  says," 
was  his  request. 

Hetzel  read  the  following  : — 

"  Office  of 
"  B.  Peixada  &  Co., 

«  No.— Reade  Street, 
"  New  York,  Aug.  12,  1884. 

"  DEAR  SIR: — In  view  of  the  extraordinary 
occurrence  of  yesterday  morning,  I  presume  it  is 
needless  for  me  to  say  that  your  further  services  as 


AN  ORDEAL.  209 

my  attorney  can  be  dispensed  with.  Please  have  the 
goodness  to  transfer  my  brother's  will  and  all  other 
papers  in  your  keeping,  in  reference  to  the  case  of 
my  late  sister-in-law,  to  Edwin  Offenbach,  Esq., 
attorney,  No. — Broadway.  I  don't  know  if  you 
expect  me  to  pay  you  any  more  money  ;  but  if  you 
do,  please  send  memorandum  to  above  address,  and 
oblige, 

"  Respectfully  Yours, 

"  B.  PEIXADA. 

"  A.  RIPLEY,  ESQ.,  attorney,  etc." 

"  He  wants  you  to  transfer  his  papers  to  another 
lawyer  and  render  your  bill,  that's  all,"  said  Hetzel. 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ? "  Arthur  rejoined.  "  Well, 
then,  let  me  have  his  note." 

Arthur  put  Peixada's  note  into  his  pocket.  The 
trio  relapsed  into  their  former  silence. 

Again  by  and  by  the  door-bell  rang.  Again  all 
three  started.  Again  Hetzel  went  to  the  door. 

Arthur  leaned  forward,  and  strained  his  ears. 
He  heard  Hetzel  take  down  the  chain  ;  he  heard 
the  door  creak  open  ;  he  heard  a  boy's  voice,  rough 
and  lusty,  say,  "  No  answer.  Here,  sign — will 
you  ?  "  And  then  he  sank  back  in  his  chair. 

Hetzel  staid  away  for  some  minutes.  Coming 
back,  "It  was  the  messenger,"  he  said;  "but  he 
had  no  answer.  The  prison  people  told  him  that 
there  was  none." 

It  was  now  about  seven  o'clock.  Presently 
Bridget  appeared  upon  the  threshold,  and  asked  to 
speak  with  her  mistress.  Mrs.  Hart  stepped  into 


210  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

the  hall,  where  for  a  time  she  and  the  servant  con 
versed  in  low  tones.  Re-entering  the  parlor,  she 
said,  "  Dinner. — She  came  to  tell  me  that  dinner  is 
ready.  I  had  forgotten  it.  Will  you  come 
down  ?  " 

Hetzel  rose.     Arthur  remained  seated. 

"  Come,  Arthur.  Didn't  you  hear  what  Mrs. 
Hart  said  ?  Dinner  is  ready,"  Hetzel  began. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  suppose  I  want  any  dinner,  do 
you?  You  two  go  down,  if  you  choose.  I'll  wait 
for  you  here." 

.  "  Now,  be  sensible,  will  you  ?  Come  down-stairs 
with  us.  Whether  you  want  to,  or  not,  you  must 
eat  something.  You'll  get  sick,  fasting  like  this. 
We've  got  enough  on  our  hands,  as  it  is,  without 
having  a  sick  man  to  look  after.  Come  along." 

Hetzel  took  Arthur  by  the  arm,  and  led  him  out. 

But  their  attempt  at  dinner  was  pretty  doleful. 
Despite  their  long  abstinence  from  food,  none  of 
them  was  hungry.  Hetzel  alone  contrived  to  fin 
ish  his  soup.  Mrs.  Hart  and  Arthur  could  swal 
low  no  more  than  a  few  mouthfuls  of  bread  and 
wine  apiece. 

Afterward  they  went  back  to  the  parlor.  As 
before,  Arthur  sat  still  and  nursed  his  thoughts. 
Hetzel  picked  up  an  illustrated  book  from  the 
table,  and  began  to  turn  the  pages.  Mrs.  Hart 
said,  "  If  you  will  excuse  me,  I  think  I'll  lie  down 
for  a  little.  I  have  a  splitting  headache."  She  lay 
down  on  the  sofa.  Hetzel  got  a  shawl,  and 
covered  her  with  it. 


AN  ORDEAL.  •  21 1 

The  clock  was  striking  ten,  when  for  a  third 
time  the  bell  rang.  For  a  third  time  Hetzel  started 
to  answer  it.  Arthur  accompanied  him. 

Hetzel  opened  the  door.  A  telegraph-boy  con 
fronted  him. 

"  Ripley  ? "  the  boy  demanded. 

"Yes — yes,"  said  Arthur,  and  seized  hold  of  the 
dispatch  that  the  boy  offered. 

But  his  courage  forsook  him.  He  turned  white, 
and  leaned  against  the  wall  for  support. 

"  Some — something  has  happened  to  her,"  he 
gasped.  "  Read  it  for  me,  Hetz,  and  let  me  know 
the  worst." 

"  No,  it  isn't  from  her.  It's  from  Mr.  Flint," 
said  Hetzel,  after  he  had  read  it. 

"Oh,"  sighed  Arthur.— "  Well,  what  does  he 
say  ? " 

"  Here." 

Hetzel  put  the  telegram  into  Arthur's  hands. 
Its  contents  were  : — 

"  Victory  !  Meet  me  to-morrow  morning,  10:  30, 
at  district-attorney's  office.  Every  thing  satisfac 
torily  arranged.  Absolutely  nothing  to  fear.— 
Arthur  Flint." 

"  There,"  Hetzel  added,  "  now  I  hope  you'll 
brace  up  a  little." 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to,"  said  Arthur.  "  Anyhow, 
I'll  try." 

Mrs.  Hart  was  much  relieved.  Indeed,  her 
spirits  underwent  a  considerable  reaction.  Her 
eyes  brightened,  and  she  cried,  "  Oh,  to  think  ! 


212  AIRS.  PEIXADA. 

The  dear  child  will  be  home  again  by  luncheon-time 
to-morrow  !  " 

"  And  now,"  put  in  Hetzel,  "  I  would  counsel 
both  you  and  Arthur  to  go  to  bed.  A  night's  rest 
will  work  wonders  for  you." 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,  too,"  agreed  Mrs.  Hart.  "  But 
you — you  will  not  leave  us  ?  You  will  sleep  in  our 
spare  room?" 

"  Oh,  thank  you.  Yes,  perhaps  I'd  better  stay 
here,  so  as  to  be  on  hand  in  case  any  thing  should 
happen." 

All  three  climbed  the  staircase.  Mrs.  Hart 
showed  Hetzel  to  his  quarters,  and  inspected  them 
to  satisfy  herself  that  every  thing  was  in  proper  order 
for  his  comfort.  Then  he  escorted  her  back  to  her 
own  bed-chamber.  Arthur  was  standing  in  the  hall. 
Mrs.  Hart  bade  them  both  good  night,  and  dis 
appeared.  Thereupon  Hetzel,  turning  to  Arthur, 
said,  "  Now,  old  boy,  go  straight  to  bed,  and 
refresh  yourself  with  a  sound  sleep.  Good-by  till 
morning." 

But  Arthur  stopped  him.  In  a  voice  that 
betrayed  some  embarrassment,  he  began,  "  I  say, 
Julian,  I  wonder  whether  you  would  very  much 
mind  my  sleeping  with  you.  You  see,  I — I  haven't 
been  in  there" — pointing  to  a  door  in  front  of 
them — "since— since — "  He  broke  off. 

"  Oh,  of  course.  You  don't  feel  like  being  left 
alone.  I  understand.  Come  on,"  said  Hetzel. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Arthur.  "  Yes,  that's  it.  I 
don't  feel  like  being  left  alone," 


AN  ORDEAL.  213 

The  sky  was  overcast  next  morning,  and  a  cold 
wind  blew  from  across  the  river.  Hetzel  and  Mrs. 
Hart  were  up  betimes  ;  but  Arthur,  who  had  tossed 
restlessly  about  for  the  earlier  half  of  the  night, 
lay  abed  till  late.  He  did  not  show  his  face  down 
stairs  till  nine  o'clock. 

"We  want  to  start  in  about  half  an  hour, 
Arthur,"  said  Hetzel.  "  That  will  give  us  time  to 
stop  at  your  office,  before  going  to  the  district- 
attorney's." 

"  What  do  we  want  to  stop  at  my  office  for  ? " 

''  Why,  to  attend  to  the  matters  that  Peixada 
wrote  you  about — return  the  will — and  so  forth." 

"  Oh,  yes.     I  had  forgotten." 

"  Then,  I  suppose,  Mrs.  Hart,  that  we  shall  be 
back  here  for  luncheon,  and  bring  Ruth  with  us. 
But  if  we  shouldn't  turn  up  till  somewhat  later,  you 
mustn't  alarm  yourself.  There's  no  telling  how 
long  the  legal  formalities  may  take." 

"  You  speak  as  though  you  were  going  to  leave 
me  behind,"  said  Mrs.  Hart. 

"  Why,  I  didn't  think  you  would  want  to  go 
with  us.  The  weather  is  so  threatening,  and  the 
district-attorney's  office  is  so  unpleasant  a  place, 
I  took  for  granted  that  you  would  prefer  to  stay 
home." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  should  go  wild,  waiting  here  alone. 
You  must  let  me  accompany  you.  1  want  to  be  the 
first — no,  the  second — to  greet  Ruth." 

Hetzel  made  no  further  opposition. 

They  went  straight  to  Arthur's  office.     There  he 


214  MKS-  PEIXADA. 

did  the  Peixada  documents  up  in  a  bundle,  directed 
the  same  to  Mr.  Edwin  Offenbach,  and  told  his 
office  boy  to  deliver  it  to  Mr.  Offenbach  in  person. 
Then  they  proceeded  on  foot  up  Broadway  and 
down  Chambers  Street  to  the  district-attorney's. 

The  identical  lot  of  supercilious  clerks  with 
whom  Hetzel  had  had  it  out  the  day  before,  were 
lolling  about  now  in  the  ante-room.  "  We  wish  to 
see  Mr.  Romer,"  Hetzel  announced. 

Nobody  seemed  to  be  much  impressed  by  this 
piece  of  intelligence. 

"  Come,  you  fellow,"  Hetzel  went  on,  addressing 
one  young  gentleman  in  particular,  who  appeared 
to  have  no  more  weighty  duty  to  perform  than  the 
trimming  of  his  finger-nails  ;  "just  take  that  card 
into  Mr.  Romer— will  you  ?— and  look  sharp 
about  it." 

The  young  gentleman  glanced  up  languidly,  sur 
veyed  his  interlocutor  with  a  mingling  of  pity  and 
amusement,  at  length  drawled,  "  Say,  Jim,  see  what 
this  party's  after,"  and  returned  to  his  toilet. 
Hetzel's  brow  contracted. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  see  Mr.  Romer  about  ?  " 
demanded  Jim,  leisurely  lifting  himself  from  the 
desk  atop  which  he  had  been  seated. 

Hetzel's  brows  contracted  a  trifle  more  closely. 
There  was  an  ugly  look  in  his  eyes. 

"What  do  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Romer  about?" 
he  repeated.  "  I'll  explain  that  to  Mr.  Romer. 
What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  conduct  us  to  Mr. 
Romer's  office  ;  and  I  want  you  to  do  that  at 


AN  ORDEAL.  215 

short  notice,  or,  I  promise  you,  I'll  find  out  the 
reason  why." 

Hetzel  had  spoken  quietly,  but  with  an  inflection 
that  was  unmistakable. 

"  Well,  step  this  way,  then,  will  you  ?  "  said  Jim, 
the  least  bit  crestfallen. 

They  followed  him  into  Mr.  Romer's  private  room. 

Romer  was  seated  at  his  desk.  Mr.  Flint  was 
seated  hard-by  at  a  table,  examining  some  papers. 
Both  rose  at  the  entrance  of  the  visitors. 

"  Ah,  Arthur,  my  dear  boy,"  Mr.  Flint  exclaimed, 
"  here  you  are."  He  clapped  his  godson  heartily 
upon  the  shoulder,  and  proceeded  to  pay  his  com 
pliments  to  Mrs.  Hart  and  Hetzel. 

"  How  do,  Ripley  ? "  said  Romer.  "  Glad  to  see 
you." 

Thereupon  befell  a  moment  of  silence.  Nobody 
seemed  to  know  what  to  say  next. 

Finally  Mr.  Flint  began.  "  I  think,"  he  said,  "  I 
ought  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Romer  is  to  be  thanked 
for  all  the  good  luck  that  we  have  met  with. 
Except  for  his  intercession,  Mr.  Orson  would  not 
have  considered  the  bail  question  for  a  moment. 
As  it  is,  Mr.  Romer  has  persuaded  him — But  per 
haps  you'd  better  go  on,"  he  added,  abruptly  turn 
ing  to  Romer. 

"  Well,"  said  Romer,  "  the  long  and  short  of  it  is 
that  Mr.  Orson  agrees  to  accept  bail  in  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars.  You  know,  Ripley,  it's  our  rule 
not  to  take  bail  at  all  in  cases  of  this  sort  ;  and  so 
he  had  to  fix  a  large  amount  to  ward  off  scandal." 


216  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  And  here  are  the  papers,  all  ready  to  be  signed," 
said  Mr.  Flint. 

"  But  where "  Hetzel  began. 

"Yes,  just  so.  I  was  coming  to  that,"  Romer 
interposed.  "  We've  sent  for  her,  and  she'll  get 
here  before  long.  But  what  I  was  going  to  say 
is  this:  Mr.  Orson  makes  it  a  condition  that  before 
bail  is  accepted,  she  be  required  to — to  plead." 

"  Well  ?  "  queried  Hetzel. 

"  Well,  you  see,  she  must  put  in  her  plea  of  not 
guilty  in — in  open  court." 

"  What  !  "  cried  Arthur.  "  Subject  her  to  that 
humiliation  ?  Drag  her  up  to  the  bar  of  a  crowded 
court-room,  and — and — Oh,  it  will  kill  her  !  You 
might  as  well  kill  her  outright." 

"  Is  this  absolutely  necessary  ?  "  asked  Hetzel. 

"  Mr.  Orson  made  it  a  sine  qua  non"  replied 
Romer;  "  and  if  you'll  listen  to  me  for  a  moment, 
I'll  tell  you  why." 

He  paused,  gnawed  his  mustache  for  an  instant, 
at  length  resumed,  "  You  know,  Ripley,  we  never 
should  have  gone  at  this  case,  at  all,  except  for  you. 
That's  so,  isn't  it  ?  All  right.  Now,  what  I  want 
to  make  plain  is  that  we're  not  to  blame.  You 
started  us,  didn't  you  ?  Well  and  good.  We 
unearthed  that  old  indictment,  which  otherwise 
might  have  lain  moldering  in  its  pigeon-hole  till 
the  day  of  doom,  we  unearthed  it  simply  because 
you  urged  us  to.  We  never  should  have  moved  in 
the  matter,  except  for  you.  I  want  you  to  confess 
that  this  is  a  true  statement  of  the  facts." 


AN  ORDEAL.  217 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  it's  true,"  groaned  Arthur. 

"  All  right,  Ripley.  That's  just  what  I  wanted  to 
bring  out.  Now  I  can  pass  on  to  point  two.  Point 
two  is  this.  I  suppose  you're  very  sorry  for  what's 
happened.  I  know  we  are — at  least,  I  am — awfully 
sorry.  And  what's  more,  I  feel — I  feel— hang  it,  I 
feel  uncommonly  friendly  toward  you,  Ripley,  old 
boy.  Don't  you  understand  ?  I  want  to  do  all  I 
can  to  get  you  out  of  this  confounded  mess.  And 
so,  what  I  went  to  work  to  do  with  Mr.  Orson  was 
not  only  to  induce  him  to  take  bail,  but  also,  don't 
you  see,  to  get  him  to  drop  the  case.  What  I 
urged  upon  him  was  this.  I  said,  '  Look  here,  Mr. 
Orson,  we  didn't  start  this  business,  did  we  ?  Then 
why  the  deuce  should  we  press  it  ?  The  chances  of 
conviction  aren't  great,  and  anyhow  we've  got  our 
hands  full  enough,  without  raking  up  worm-eaten 
indictments.  I  say,  as  long  as  she  has  turned  out 
to  be  who  she  is,  I  say,  let's  leave  matters  in 
statu  quo'  That's  what  I  said  to  Mr.  Orson." 

"  By  Jove,  Romer,  you — you're  a  brick,"  was  the 
most  Arthur  could  respond.  There  was  a  frog  in 
his  voice. 

"  Well,  sir,"  Romer  continued,  "  I  put  it  before 
Mr.  Orson  in  that  shape,  and  I  argued  with  him  a 
long  time  about  it.  But  what  struck  him  was  this. 
(  What'll  the  public  say? '  he  asked.  *  Now  it's  got 
into  the  papers,  there'll  be  the  dickens  to  pay,  if 
we  don't  push  it.'  And  you  can't  deny,  Ripley,  that 
that's  a  pretty  serious  difficulty.  Well,  he  and 
I,  we  talked  it  over,  and  considered  the  pros 


2l8  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

and  cons,  and  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  he  said,  '  All 
right,  Romer.  I  have  no  desire  to  carry  the  matter 
further  than  is  necessary  to  set  us  right  before  the 
public.  So,  what  I'll  consent  to  do  is  to  have  bail 
fixed  in  a  large  sum — say  twenty-five  thousand  dol 
lars — and  then  she  must  plead  in  open  court. 
That'll  satisfy  the  reporters.  Then  we'll  put  the 
indictment  back  into  the  safe,  and  let  it  lie.  As 
long  as  we're  solid  with  the  public,  I  don't  care.' 
That's  what  Mr.  Orson  said.  So  now,  you  see,  she's 
got  to  plead  in  open  court,  to  prevent  the  news 
papers  from  raising  Cain  with  us,  and  the  bail's  got 
to  be  pretty  considerable  for  the  same  reason.  But 
after  that's  settled,  you  can  take  her  home,  and  rest 
easy.  As  long  as  we're  in  office  the  charge  won't 
be  revived  ;  and  by  the  time  we're  superseded,  it 
will  be  an  old  story  and  forgotten  by  all  hands." 

"  You  see,"  Mr.  Flint  said,  "  how  much  we  have 
to  thank  Mr.  Romer  for." 

"  And  I  hope  Mr.  Romer  will  believe  that  we 
appreciate  his  kindness,"  added  Hetzel. 

"I — I — God  bless  you,  Romer,"  blurted  out 
Arthur. 

"Well,"  said  Romer,  "  to  come  down  to  particu 
lars,  we've  got  a  crowded  calendar  to-day,  and  so 
the  court  room  is  likely  to  be  full  of  people.  I 
wanted  to  make  this  pleading  business  as  easy  as 
possible  for  her,  and  on  that  account  I've  sent  an 
officer  after  her  already.  Just  as  soon  as  the  judge 
arrives,  she  can  put  in  her  plea.  Then  we'll  all 
come  back  here,  and  have  the  papers  signed  ;  and 


AN  ORDEAL.  .219 

then  you  can  go  home  and  be  happy.  Now,  if 
you'll  follow  me,  I'll  take  you  into  the  court  room 
by  the  side  entrance." 

"  Oh,  we— I  don't  want  to  go  into  the  court  room. 
I  couldn't  stand  it.  Let  us  wait  here  till  it's  over," 
whimpered  Arthur,  through  chattering  teeth. 

Romer  looked  surprised.  "  Just  as  you  please," 
said  he;  "but  prisoners  generally  like  to  see  a 
friendly  face  near  them,  when  they're  called  up  to 
plead." 

"  Ripley  doesn't  know  what  he's  saying,"  put  in 
Hetzel.  "  Of  course  we  will  follow  you  into  court." 
In  a  lower  tone,  turning  to  Arthur,  "You  don't 
mean  that  you  want  her  to  go  through  that  ordeal 
alone,  do  you  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  about  that,"  Arthur  confessed. 

«  But — but,"  asked  Mrs.  Hart,  "  can't  we  see  her 
and  speak  to  her  before  she  has  to  appear  in  court  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  that  could  be  managed,"  replied 
Romer,  "  without  some  delay.  You  know, 
I  want  to  have  her  plead  the  moment  she  gets  here, 
so  as  to  avoid  the  crush.  It'll  only  take  a  few 
minutes.  You'd  better  come  now." 

They  followed  Romer  out  of  his  office,  down  a 
long,  gloomy  corridor,  along  which  knots  of  people 
stood,  chatting  and  smoking  rank  cigars,  and 
into  the  General  Sessions  court  room — the  court 
room  that  Arthur  had  visited  a  few  months  before, 
out  of  idle  curiosity  to  witness  the  scene  of  Mrs. 
Peixada's  trial. 

There  were  already  about  forty  persons  present  : 


220  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

a  half  dozen  lawyers  at  the  counsel-table,  busy  with 
books  and  papers  ;  a  larger  number  of  respectable 
looking  citizens,  who  read  newspapers  and  appeared 
bored — probably  gentlemen  of  the  jury  ;  and  a 
residue  of  damp,  dirty,  dismal  individuals,  includ 
ing  a  few  tattered  women,  who  were  doubtless,  like 
those  with  whom  we  are  chiefly  concerned,  come  to 
watch  the  fate  of  some  unfortunate  friend.  Every 
body  kept  very  still,  so  that  the  big  clock  on  the 
wall  made  itself  distinctly  heard  even  to  the  far 
thest  corner  of  the  room.  Its  hands  marked  five 
minutes  to  eleven.  The  suspense  was  painful.  It 
seemed  to  Arthur  that  he  had  grown  a  year  older 
in  the  interval  that  elapsed  before  the  clock  solemnly 
tolled  the  hour. 

Romer  had  chairs  placed  for  them  within  the  bar, 
a  little  to  the  right  of  the  clerk's  desk,  so  that  they 
would  not  be  more  than  six  feet  distant  from  the 
prisoner,  when  she  stood  up  to  speak.  Then  he  left 
them,  saying,  "  I'll  see  whether  the  judge  has  got 
down.  I  want  to  ask  him  to  go  on  the  bench 
promptly,  as  a  favor  to  me." 

Soon  afterward  a  loud  rapping  sounded  upon  the 
door  that  led  from  the  corridor,  and  the  officers 
who  were  scattered  about  the  room,  simultaneously 
called,  "Hats  off." 

The  judge,  with  grave  and  rather  self-conscious 
mien,  stalked  past  our  friends,  and  took  his  posi 
tion  on  the  bench.  Romer  followed  at  a  few  paces. 
He  smiled  at  Arthur,  and  crossed  over  to  the  dis 
trict-attorney's  table. 


AN  ORDEAL,  221 

There  was  a  breathing  space  of  silence.  Then  the 
crier  rose,  and  sang  out  his  time-honored  admonition, 
"  Hear  ye,  hear  ye,  hear  ye,  all  persons  having  bus 
iness  with  this  court,"  etc.,  to  the  end. 

Another  moment  of  silence. 

The  clerk  untied  a  bundle  of  papers,  ran  them 
over,  got  upon  his  feet,  and  exchanged  a  few  whis 
pered  words  with  the  judge.  Eventually  he  turned 
around  and  faced  the  audience. 

Ah,  how  still  Arthur's  heart  stood,  as  the  clerk 
cried,  in  rasping,  metallic  accents,  "  Judith  Peix- 
ada,  alias  Ruth  Ripley,  to  the  bar  !  " 

There  were  by  this  time  quite  seventy-five  spec 
tators  present.  Every  one  of  them  leaned  forward  on 
his  chair,  and  craned  his  neck  eagerly,  to  catch  a 
good  glimpse  of  the  prisoner.  In  the  distance, 
somewhere,  resounded  a  harsh  click  (as  of  a  key 
turned  in  a  stiff  lock),  succeeded  by  a  violent  clang 
(as  of  an  iron  door  opened  and  slammed  to,  in 
haste).  Then,  up  the  aisle  leading  from  the  rear 
of  the  court  room,  advanced  the  figure  of  a  lady, 
dressed  in  black.  She  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of 
those  seventy-five  on-lookers,  more  than  one  of 
whom  was  bold  enough  to  obtrude  himself  upon 
her  path,  and  stare  her  squarely  in  the  face.  She 
had  no  veil. 

But  she  marched  bravely  on,  looking  fixedly 
ahead,  and  at  last  reached  the  railing  where  she  had 
to  halt.  She  was  terribly  pale.  Her  features  were 
hard  and  peaked.  Her  under-lip  was  pressed  tight 
beneath  her  teeth.  Her  face  might  have  been  of 


222  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

marble.  It  contrasted  sharply  with  the  black  hair 
above  it,  and  the  black  gown  underneath.  Her 
eyes  were  empty  of  expression,  like  those  of  one 
who  is  blind.  She  appeared  not  to  see  her  friends  : 
at  any  rate,  she  gave  them  no  sign  of  recognition. 
Yet  they  were  only  a  few  feet  away,  and  almost 
exactly  in  front  of  her.  She  stood  motionless,  with 
both  hands  resting  on  the  rail. 

What  must  have  been  Arthur  Ripley's  feelings 
at  this  moment,  as  he  beheld  his  wife,  standing 
within  arm's  reach  of  him,  a  prisoner  in  a  court  of 
law,  prey  to  a  hundred  devouring  eyes,  and  recog 
nized  his  utter  helplessness  to  interfere  and  shield 
her! 

"  Judith  Peixada,  alias  Ruth  Ripley,"  began  the 
clerk,  in  the  same  mechanical,  metallic  voice,  "  you 
have  been  indicted  for  murder  in  the  first  degree 
upon  the  person  of  Edward  Bolen,  late  of  the  first 
ward  of  the  City  of  New  York,  deceased,  and 
against  the  peace  of  the  People  of  the  State  of 
New  York,  and  their  dignity.  How  say  you,  are 
you  guilty  or  not  guilty  of  the  felony  as  stated  ?" 

The  prisoner's  hands  clutched  tightly  at  the 
railing.  She  drew  a  deep  breath.  Her  pale  lips 
parted.  So  low  that  only  those  within  a  radius  of 
a  yard  or  two  could  hear,  she  said,  u  I  am — 
guilty." 

The  clerk  assumed  that  he  had  misunderstood. 
"  Come,  speak  up  louder,"  he  said,  roughly. 
"  How  do  you  plead  ?  " 

A  spasm  contracted  the  prisoner's  features,     She 


AN  ORDEAL.  223 

bit  her  lip.  Her  hands  shook  violently.  She 
repeated,  "  I  plead  guilty." 

The  clerk's  face  betrayed  a  small  measure  of 
surprise.  Speedily  controlling  it,  however,  he 
began  to  recite  the  formula,  for  such  case  made  and 
provided  :  "You  answer  that  you  are  guilty  of 
the  felony  as  charged  in  the  indictment,  and  so 
your  plea  shall  stand  record— 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Clerk,"  the  judge  at  this 
point  interrupted. 

Mr.  Flint  and  Hetzel  were  looking  into  each 
other's  faces  with  blank  consternation.  Arthur's 
head  had  dropped  forward  upon  his  breast.  Mrs. 
Hart  sprang  to  her  feet,  ran  toward  the  prisoner, 
grasped  her  arm,  and  cried  out,  "  Oh,  it  is  not 
true.  You  don't  know  what  you  have  said,  Ruth. 
It  is  not  true — she  is  not  guilty,  sir,"  directing  the 
last  words  at  the  clerk.  The  on-lookers  shifted  in 
their  seats  and  conversed  together.  The  court- 
officers  hammered  with  their  gavels  and  commanded, 
"  Order — silence."  Mr.  Romer  stood  up,  and 
tried  to  catch  the  judge's  eye. 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Clerk,"  the  judge  had  said  ; 
then  addressing  himself  to  the  culprit,  "  The  plea 
that  you  offer,  Judith  Peixada,  ought  not,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  court,  to  be  accepted.  The  penalty 
for  murder  in  the  first  degree  is  fixed  by  law,  and 
that  penalty  is  hanging.  No  discretionary  alterna 
tive  is  left  to  the  magistrate.  Therefore  to  permit 
you  to  enter  a  plea  of  guilty  of  murder  in  the  first 
degree,  would  be  to  permit  self-destruction.  It  has 


224  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

never  been  the  custom  of    our  courts   to   accept 
that   plea  ;  though,    naturally,  they   have    seldom 
enough  had  occasion  to  decline  it.     If  I  remember 
rightly,  the  Connecticut  tribunals  have  in  one  or 
two  instances  allowed   that  plea  to  be  recorded  ; 
but,     unless  I   am    misinformed,     the  statutes   of 
Connecticut    empower     the  sentencing    officer   to 
choose  between  death  and  imprisonment   for   life. 
I  can  not   consistently  and  conscientiously  violate 
our  precedents,  and  for  that  reason  I  must  decline 
to  entertain  the  plea  that  you  have  offered.     If, 
however,  you  are  in  your  heart  persuaded  of  your 
guilt,  and  wish  to  spare  the  People  the  expense  and 
labor  of  a  trial  before  a  jury,  I  will  accept  a  plea 
of  murder  in  the  second  degree,  the  punishment 
for  which,  I  must  beg  you  to  recollect,  is  confine 
ment  at  hard  labor  in  the  State  Prison  for  the  term 
of  your  natural   life.     The  clerk  will  now  put  the 
question  to  you,  Judith  Peixada,  and  you  are  at 
full  liberty  to  reply  to  it  as  you  deem  fit." 

"  If  the  court  please,"  said  Romer,  "  I  should 
like  to  make  a  brief  statement,  before  these  proceed 
ings  are  continued." 

"Certainly,"  said  the  judge.  "You  can  wait, 
Mr.  Clerk,  until  we  have  heard  from  the  district- 
attorney." 

Every  man  and  woman  in  the  court-room,  save 
only  two,  strained  forward  to  catch  each  syllable 
that  Romer  might  pronounce.  The  two  exceptions 
were  the  prisoner  and  her  husband.  He  sat  hud 
dled  up  in  his  chair,  apparently  deaf  and  blind 


AN  ORDEAL.  225 

to  what  was  going  on  around.  She  leaned  heavily 
upon  the  railing  in  front  of  her,  and  the  expression 
in  her  eyes  was  one  of  weary  indifference. 

"  Will  you  kindly  see  that  a  chair  is  furnished 
the  prisoner  ?  "  Romer  asked  of  the  clerk. 

An  attendant  brought  a  chair.  The  prisoner  sat 
down. 

"  If  your  honor  please,"  said  Romer,  "  I  desire  to 
state  that,  in  case  the  prisoner  be  allowed  to  plead  to 
murder  in  the  second  degree,  it  will  be  against  the 
protest  of  the  People.  The  evidence  in  support  of 
the  indictment  is  of  such  a  nature  as  to  admit  of 
doubt  concerning  the  prisoner's  guilt  ;  and,  if  it 
were  submitted  to  a  jury,  I  think  the  chances 
would  be  even  whether  they  would  acquit  her  or 
convict  her.  The  People  feel  that  there  is  evidence 
enough  to  justify  a  trial,  but  they  are  reluctant  to 
become  accessories  to  what,  in  their  judgment, 
may  be  the  hasty  act  of  an  ill-advised  woman.  It 
is  the  duty  of  the  district-attorney  to  endeavor  to 
secure  a  conviction — it  would  be  his  duty  to  con 
sent  to  a  plea — when  fully'convinced  in  his  own 
mind  of  the  accused  person's  legal  guilt.  But 
when  he  is  doubtful,  or  at  least  not  entirely  satis 
fied,  -of  that  guilt,  as  I  confess  to  being  in  the  case 
at  bar,  it  is  his  duty  to  submit  the  question  for 
arbitration  to  a  jury.  That,  your  honor,  is  the 
stand  which  I  am  compelled  to  take  in  these 
premises.  I  entertain  grave  doubts  of  the  prisoner's 
guilt — doubts  which  could  only  be  set  at  rest  by  a 
verdict  rendered  in  the  regular  way.  I  protest 


226  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

therefore  against  the  entry  of  a  plea  such  as 
your  honor  has  suggested  ;  and,  if  the  court  please, 
I  desire  that  this  protest  on  the  part  of  the  People 
be  made  a  matter  of  record." 

Mr.  Flint  and  Hetzel  breathed  more  freely.  Mrs. 
Hart  fanned  herself  with  manifest  agitation. 

The  judge  replied  :  "  The  clerk  will  procure  a 
transcript  of  the  district-attorney's  remarks  from 
the  stenographer,  and  enter  the  same  in  the  min 
utes.  In  response  to  those  remarks,  I  feel  called 
upon  to  say  that  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  the  pris 
oner  at  the  bar,  better  than  any  one  else,  is  compe 
tent  to  decide  upon  the  question  of  her  own  guilt 
or  innocence.  She  certainly  can  not  be  in  doubt  as 
to  whether  she  committed  the  felony  charged  against 
her.  The  court  has  already  enlightened  her  respect 
ing  the  sentence  that  will  be  imposed  in  the  event 
of  her  pleading  guilty  of  murder  in  the  second  de 
gree.  Whatever  evidence  might  be  adduced  in  her 
behalf  at  a  trial,  is  certainly  not  to  be  weighed 
against  her  own  voluntary  and  unconstrained  con 
fession.  It  would  be  contrary  to  public  policy  and 
to  good  morals  for  the  court  to  seal  the  prisoner's 
lips,  as  the  district-attorney  appears  anxious  to  have 
it  do.  The  clerk  will  now  put  the  necessary 
inquiries  to  her  ;  and  if  she  elect  to  offer  the  plea 
in  debate,  the  court  will  feel  obliged  to  accept  it." 

Romer  bowed  and  sat  down. 

The  clerk  forthwith  proceeded  to  business. 

"  Judith  Peixada,  stand  up,"  he  ordered.  Upon 
her  obeying,  he  rattled  off,  "  Judith  Peixada,  do  you 


AN  ORDEAL.  227 

desire  to  withdraw  your  plea  of  guilty  of  murder  in 
the  first  degree,  and  to  substitute  for  the  same  a 
plea  of  guilty  of  murder  in  the  second  degree,  as 
charged  in  the  second  count  of  the  indictment  ? 
If  so,  say,  *  I  do.' ' 

Mrs.  Hart  cried,  "  No,  no  !  She  does  not.  Don't 
you  see  that  the  child  is  sick  ?  How  should  she 
know  whether  she  is  guilty  or  not  ?  Oh,  it  will  be 
monstrous  if  you  allow  her  to  say  that  she  is  guilty." 

"  Order  !  Silence  !  "  called  the  officers.  One  of 
them  seized  Mrs.  Hart's  arm  and  pushed  her  into  a 
chair. 

The  prisoner's  lips  moved.  "  I  do,"  she  whis 
pered. 

"  You  answer,"  went  on  the  clerk,  "  that  you  are 
guilty  of  the  felony  of  murder  in  the  second  degree, 
as  charged  in  the  second  count  of  the  indictment ; 
and  so  your  plea  shall  stand  recorded.  What  have 
you  now  to  say  why  sentence  should  not  be  pro 
nounced  upon  you  according  to  law?  " 

Romer  stepped  forward. 

"If  your  honor  please,"  he  said,  "the  People  are 
not  yet  prepared  to  move  for  sentence.  In  the  ab 
sence  of  counsel  for  the  prisoner,  I  must  take  it  upon 
myself  to  request  that  sentence  be  suspended  for  at 
least  one  week." 

"  The  court  suspends  sentence  till  this  day  week 
at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,"  said  the  judge  ; 
"  and  meanwhile  the  prisoner  is  remanded  to  the 
city  prison." 

The  prisoner  was  at  once  led  away. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"SICK  OF  A    FEVER." 

ROMER  drew  near  to  Mr.  Flint. 
"  I  did  all  I  could,"  he  said. 

11  Things  look  pretty  desperate  now,  don't  they  ?" 
Mr.  Flint  returned. 

Hetzel  tugged  at  his  beard. 

Mrs.  Hart  started  up.  "  Oh,  for  mercy's  sake, 
Mr.  Romer,  you  are  not  going  to  let  them  take  her 
back  to— to  that  place,  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  help  it.  Bail  is  out  of  the 
question,  after  what  has  happened,  you  know." 

"But  can't  I  see  her  and  speak  to  her  just  a 
moment,  first  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly  ;  you  can  do  that." 

Romer  stepped  aside  and  spoke  to  an  officer. 

"  Unfortunately,"  he  said,  returning,  "  they  have 
already  carried  her  off.  But  you  can  drive  right 
down  behind  her. — Hello  !  What's  the  matter  with 
Ripley  ?  " 

They  looked  around  toward  Arthur.  A  glance 
showed  them  that  he  had  fainted. 

"  When  did  this  happen  ?  "  asked  Romer. 

No  one  could  tell.     No  one  had  paid  the  slightest 


"  SICK  OF  A  FEVER."  229 

attention  to  Arthur,  since  the  prisoner  had  first  ap 
peared  in  court. 

"  Well,  we  must  get  him  out  of  here  right  away," 
said  Romer. 

Mr.  Flint  and  Hetzel  lent  a  hand  apiece  ;  and 
his  three  friends  carried  the  unhappy  man  out  of 
the  room,  of  course  thereby  creating  a  new  sensation 
among  the  spectators.  They  bore  him  along  the 
corridor,  and  into  Mr.  Romer's  office,  where  they 
laid  him  upon  a  sofa.  Romer  touched  a  bell. 

"  I'll  have  to  send  some  one  to  take  my  place  in 
court,"  he  explained. 

To  the  subordinate  who  appeared,  "  Ask  Mr. 
Birdsall  to  step  here,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Birdsall  came,  received  Romer's  orders, 
departed. 

"  There,  now,"  said  Romer,  "  I've  got  that  off  my 
hands.  Now,  let's  bring  him  around.  Luckily,  I 
have  a  flask  of  brandy  in  my  desk." 

He  rubbed  some  brandy  upon  Arthur's  temples, 
and  poured  a  drop  or  two  between  his  lips. 

"You  fan  him,  will  you  ?  "  he  asked  of  Hetzel. 

Mrs.  Hart  proffered  her  fan.  Hetzel  took  it, 
and  fanned  Arthur's  face  vigorously. 

Mrs.  Hart  looked  on  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
At  length  she  said,  "  Well,  I  can't  wait  here.  I 
am  going  to  the  prison." 

"Oh,  to  be  sure  ;  I  had  forgotten,"  said  Romer. 
"  I'll  send  a  man  to  obtain  admittance  for  you." 

"  May  I  also  bear  you  company  ?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Flint. 


*3°  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Mrs.  Hart  replied,  "  That  is  very  kind  of  you.  I 
should  like  very  much  to  have  you." 

Romer  rang  his  bell  for  a  second  time.  A  negro 
answered  it. 

"  Robert,"  said  Romer,  "  go  with  this  lady  and 
gentleman  to  the  Tombs,  and  tell  the  warden  that 
they  are  special  friends  of  mine,  and  that  I  shall 
thank  him  to  show  them  every  courtesy  in  his 
power." 

Then  he  returned  to  the  sofa,  on  which  Arthur 
still  lay  inanimate. 

"  No  progress  ?  "  he  demanded  of  Hetzel. 

"  None.  Can  you  send  for  a  physician  ?  Is  there 
one  near  by  ?  " 

A  third  stroke  of  the  bell.  Hetzel's  acquaintance, 
Jim,  entered. 

"  Run  right  over  to  Chambers  Street  Hospital, 
and  tell  them  we  want  a  doctor  up  here  at  once,"  was 
Romer's  behest. 

"  Our  friend's  in  a  pretty  bad  way,"  he  continued 
to  Hetzel.  "  And,  by  Jove,  his  wife  must  be  a 
maniac." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  him,"  said  Hetzel.  "  I  feel 
rather  used  up  myself,  after  that  strain  in  court. 
But  her  conduct  is  certainly  incomprehensible." 

"  The  idea  of  pleading  guilty,  when  I  had  things 
fixed  up  so  neatly  !  She  must  be  stark,  raving  mad. 
Insanity,  by  the  way,  was  her  defense  at  the  former 
trial.  I  guess  it  was  a  bona  fide  one." 

"  No  doubt  of  it.  But  I  suppose  it's  too  late  to 
make  that  claim  now — isn't  it  ? — now  that  the  judge 


1 '  SICK  OF  A  FE  VER. "  231 

has  ordered  her  plea  of  guilty  to  be  recorded.  Yet 
— yet  it  isn't  possible  that  she  will  really  have  to  go 
to  prison." 

"  We  might  have  a  commission  appointed." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  a  commission  to  inquire  into,  and  report 
upon,  her  sanity." 

"  We  might  ?  We  will.  That's  exactly  what 
we'll  do.  But  how  ?  What  are  the  necessary  steps 
to  take  ? " 

"  Why,  when  she's  brought  up  for  sentence,  next 
week,  and  asked  what  she  has  to  say,  and  so  forth, 
you  have  an  attorney  on  hand,  and  let  him  declare 
his  conviction,  based  upon  affidavits,  that  she's  a 
lunatic,  and  then  move  that  sentence  be  suspended 
pending  the  investigation  of  her  sanity  by  a  com 
mission  to  be  appointed  by  the  court — understand  ? 
Our  side  won't  oppose,  and  the  judge  will  grant 
the  motion  as  a  matter  of  course." 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  I  see. — Mercy  upon  me,  I  never  knew 
a  fainting  fit  to  last  so  long  as  this  ;  did  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'm  not  much  posted  on  fainting-fits  in 
general,  but  it'  does  seem  as  though  this  was  an 
uncommonly  lengthy  one,  to  be  sure." 

•Arthur's  face  betrayed  no  sign  of  vitality  except 
for  the  gentle  flutter  of  his  nostrils  as  his  breath 
came  and  went. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  mused  Romer,  "  what  an  infernal 
pickle  he's  gone  and  got  himself  into  !  It's  the 
strangest  coincidence  I  ever  heard  of.  There  he 
was,  pegging  away  at  that  case  month  after  month, 


232  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

and  never  suspecting  that  the  lady  in  question  was 
his  wife  !  And  she— she  never  told  him.  Queer, 
ain't  it  ?  As  far  as  we  were  concerned,  we  never 
should  have  lifted  a  finger,  only  I  was  anxious 
to  do  Ripley  a  good  turn.  He's  a  nice  fellow, 
is  Ripley,  and  I  always  liked  him  and  his 
father  before  him.  That's  why  we  took  this 
business  up— just  for  the  sake  of  giving  him  a  lift, 
you  know.  As  for  his  client,  old  Peixada,  we'd 
i  have  seen  him  hanged  before  we'd  have  troubled 
^ourselves  about  his  affairs— except,  as  I  say,  for 
Ripley's  sake.  And  now;  this  is  what  comes  of  it. 
Well,  Ripley  never  was  cut  out  for  a  lawyer  anyhow. 
He  had  too  many  notions,  and  didn't  take  things 
practically  enough.  Why,  when  the  question  of 
advertising  first  came  up,  he  was  as  squeamish  about 
it,  and  made  as  much  fuss,  as  if  he'd  known  all  the 
time  who  she  was." 

"  Here's  the  doctor,  sir,"  cried  Jim,  entering  at 
this  point. 

Jim  was  followed  by  a  young  gentleman  in 
uniform,  who,  without  waiting  to  hear  the  history 
of  the  case,  at  once  approached  the  sofa,  and  began 
to  exercise  his  craft.  He  undid  Arthur's  cravat, 
unbuttoned  his  shirt  collar,  placed  one  hand  upon 
his  forehead,  and  with  the  other  hand  felt  his 
pulse. 

"  Open  all  the  windows,  please,"  he  said  in  a 
quiet,  business-like  tone. 

.  He  laid  his  ear  upon  the  patient's   breast,    and 
listened. 


"  SICK  OF  A  FEVER."  233 

"When  did  this  begin  ?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

"  I  should  say  about  half  an  hour  ago,"  Romer 
answered,  looking  at  his  watch. 

«  is — is  there  any  occasion  for  anxiety  ?  "  Hetzel 
inquired. 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Can't  tell 
yet,"  was  his  reply. 

He  drew  a  leather  wallet  from  his  pocket,  and 
unclasping  it,  disclosed  an  array  of  tiny  glass 
phials.  One  of  these  he  extracted,  and  holding  it 
up  to  the  light,  called  for  a  glass  of  water.  Romer 
brought  the  water.  The  doctor  poured  a  few  drops 
of  medicine  from  his  phial  into  the  tumbler.  The 
water  thereupon  clouded  and  became  opaque. 
Dipping  his  finger  into  it,  the  doctor  proceeded  to 
moisten  Arthur's  lips. 

"  Each  of  you  gentlemen  please  take  one  of  his 
hands,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and  chafe  it  till  it  gets 
warm." 

Romer  and  Hetzel  obeyed. 

"  Want  him  taken  to  the  hospital  ?  "  the  doctor 
inquired  presently. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Hetzel.  "  As  soon  as  he  is  able, 
we  want  to  take  him  home." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  In  Beekman  Place— Fiftieth  Street  and  the 
East  River." 

"  Hum,"  muttered  the  doctor,  dubiously  ;  "  that's 
quite  a  distance." 

u  To  be  sure. '  But  after  he  comes  to,  and  gets 
rested,  he  won't  mind  it." 


234  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  Perhaps  not." 

"  Why,  do  you  mean  that — ;that  he's  going  to  be 
seriously  sick  ? " 

"  Unless  I'm  mistaken,  he's  going  to  lie  abed  for 
the  next  six  weeks." 

"What?" 

"  Sh-h-h  !  Not  so  loud.  Yes,  I'm  afraid  he's  in 
for  a  long  illness.  As  for  taking  him  to  Beekman 
Place,  if  you're  bound  to  do  it,  we  must  have  an 
ambulance." 

"  I  think  if  he's  got  to  be  sick,  he'd  better  be 
sick  at  home.  What  is  it  necessary  to  do,  to  pro 
cure  an  ambulance  ?  " 

"  I'll  send  for  one. — Can  you  let  me  have  a  mes 
senger  ? "  he  asked  of  Romer. 

Romer  summoned  Jim. 

The  doctor  wrote  a  few  lines  on  a  prescription 
blank,  and  instructed  Jim  to  deliver  it  to  the  house- 
surgeon  at  the  hospital.  Returning  to  Arthur's 
side,  "  He's  beginning  to  come  around,"  he  said  ; 
"  and  now,  I  think,  you  gentlemen  had  better  leave 
the  room.  He  mustn't  open  his  mouth  for 
some  time  ;  and  if  his  friends  are  near  him  when 
he  recovers  consciousness,  he  might  want  to  talk. 
So,  please  leave  me  alone  with  him." 

"  But  you  won't  fail  to  call  us  if — if — "  Hetzel 
hesitated. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid.  There's  no  imme 
diate  danger." 

"  You'll  find  us  in  the  next  room,"  said  Romer, 
and  led  Hetzel  out. 


"  SICK  OF  A  FEVER."  235 

Whom  should  they  run  against  in  the  passage 
way  but  Mrs.  Hart  and  Mr.  Flint  ? 

"  What !  Back  so  soon  ?  "  Romer  exclaimed. 

"  She  refused  to  see  me,"  said  Mrs.  Hart. 

Romer  pushed  open  a  door.  u  Sit  down  in 
here,"  he  said. 

"  Where  is  Arthur  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Flint.  "  How 
is  he  getting  on  ?  " 

Romer  explained  Arthur's  situation. 

"  Worse  and  worse,"  cried  Mr.  Flint. 

"  But  how  was  it  that  she  refused  to  see 
you  ? "  Hetzel  questioned,  addressing  Mrs. 
Hart. 

"  She  sent  me  this,"  Mrs.  Hart  replied,  holding 
out  a  sheet  of  paper. 

Hetzel  took  it  and  read  : — 

"  MY  DEAR  ONE  : — It  will  seem  most  ungracious 
and  ungrateful  of  me  to  send  word  that  I  can  not 
see  you  just  now,  and  yet  that  is  what  I  am  com 
pelled  to  do.  My  only  excuse  is  that  I  am 
writing  something  which  demands  the  utmost 
concentration  and  self-possession  that  I  can  com 
mand  ;  and  if  I  should  set  eyes  upon  the  face  I 
love  so  well,  I  should  lose  all  control  of  myself. 
It  is  very  hard  to  be  obliged  to  say  this  to  you  ; 
but  what  I  am  writing  is  of  great  importance — to 
me,  at  least— and  the  sight  of  you  would  agitate 
me  so  much  that  I  could  not  finish  it.  Oh,  my 
dear,  kind  friend,  will  you  forgive  me  ?  If  you 
could  come  to  see  me  to-morrow,  it  would  be  a  great 
comfort.  Then  my  writing  will  be  done  with.  I 


236  MXS.  PEIXADA. 

love  you  with  all  my   heart,  and  thank  you  for  all 
your  goodness  to  me. 

"  RUTH." 

"  Don't  blame  her  too  severely,  Mrs.  Hart," 
said  Hetzel.  "  She  is  probably  half-distracted,  and 
scarcely  knows  what  she  is  doing." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  blame  her,"  replied  Mrs.  Hart  ; 
«  only— only — it  was  a  little  hard  to  be  denied." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  what  it  is  that  she  is 
writing  ? " 

"  Not  the  remotest." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  an  explanation  of  her  conduct  to 
day  in  court." 

"  Perhaps." 

Mr.  Flint  said,  "  Well,  Mr.  Romer,  the  bright 
plans  that  we  were  making  last  night  have  been 
knocked  in  the  head,  haven't  they  ?  But  I  won't 
believe  that  there  isn't  some  way  out  of  our 
troubles,  in  spite  of  all.  It  isn't  seriously  possible 
that  she'll  be  sentenced  to  prison,  is  it  ?  " 

"  As  I  was  suggesting  to  Mr.  Hetzel,  a  while 
ago,  her  friends  might  claim  that  she's  insane." 

"  Well,  insane  she  must  be,  in  point  of  fact.  A 
lady  like  Mrs.  Ripley — to  plead  guilty  of  murder — 
why,  of  course,  she's  insane.  It's  absurd  on  its  face." 

"  You  don't  any  of  you  happen  to  be  posted  on 
the  circumstances  of  the  case,  do  you  ?  "  Romer 
asked.  "  I  mean  her  side  of  the  story.  I'm 
familiar  with  the  other  side  myself." 

"  I  know  absolutely  nothing  about  it,"  said  Mr. 
Flint. 


SICK  OF  A  FEVERS 


237 


"  All  I  know,"  said  Hetzel,  "  is  what  Arthur  has 
let  drop  in  conversation,  from  time  to  time,  during 
the  last  few  months.  But  then,  you  know,  he  was 
looking  at  it  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  prosecu 
tion.  I  should  imagine  that  if  any  one  would 
understand  the  true  inwardness  of  the  matter,  it 
would  be  Mrs.  Hart." 

Mrs.  Hart  said,  "  I  know  that  she  is  as  innocent 
as  the  babe  at  its  mother's  breast.  When  she  and  I 
first  met  each  other,  in  England,  two  years  ago, 
and  became  friends,  she  told  me  all  about  it ;  but 
it  was  a  long  and  complicated  story,  and  I  can't 
remember  it  clearly  enough  to  repeat  it.  You  see, 
I  always  regarded  it  as  a  dark  bygone  that  had 
best  be  forgotten.  I  believe  that  as  far  as  the 
mere  bodily  act  went,  she  did  fire  off  the  pistol  that 
killed  her  husband  and  that  other  man.  But  there 
were  some  circumstances  that  cleared  her  of  all 
responsibility,  though  I  can't  recall  exactly  what 
they  were.  But  it  wasn't  that  she  was  insane. 
She  never  was  insane.  I  think  she  said  her  lawyers 
defended  her  on  that  plea  when  she  was  tried  ;  but 
she  insisted  that  she  was  not  insane,  and  explained 
it  in  some  other  way." 

"  Oh,  that  don't  signify,"  said  Romer.  "  When 
defendants  really  are  insane,  they  invariably  fancy 
that  they're  not,  and  get  highly  indignant  at  their 
counsel  for  maintaining  that  they  are.  At  any 
rate,  lunacy  is  what  you  must  fight  for  now.  As  I 
told  Mr.  Hetzel,  you  want  to  retain  a  lawyer,  and 
have  him  move  for  a  commission  when  the  case 


238  MRS.  PETXADA. 

comes  up  next  week.  You'll  have  your  motion 
granted  on  application,  because  we  shan't  oppose." 

"  And  in  the  event  of  the  commission  declaring 
her  to  be  insane  ?  "  queried  Mr.  Flint. 

"  Why,  then,  her  plea  will  be  rendered  null  and 
void." 

"  And  in  case  they  say  that  she's  of  sound 
mind  ?  " 

"  There'll  be  the  devil  to  pay.  Sentence  will 
have  to  be  passed." 

tf  And  she  will — will  actually — ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  worry  about  that.  The  chances  are 
that  they  will  report  as  you  wish.  And  if  they 
shouldn't — if  worse  came  to  worst — why,  there's 
the  governor,  who  has  power  to  pardon." 

"  The  ambulance  has  arrived/'  said  the  doctor, 
coming  into  the  room.  "  Some  one  had  better  run 
on  ahead,  and  get  a  bed  ready  for  the  patient. 
Please,  also,  prepare  plenty  of  chopped  ice,  and 
have  some  towels  handy,  and  a  bottle  of  hot  water 
for  his  feet.  By  the  way,  you  didn't  give  me  the 
number  of  the  house.  How's  that  ?  No.  46  ? 
Thanks.  We'll  drive  slowly,  so  as  not  to  shake  him 
up  ;  and  consequently  you'll  have  time  enough  to 
get  there  first,  and  make  every  thing  ready." 

"Well,"  said  Hetzel,  rising,  "  good-by,  Mr. 
Romer,  and  I  trust  that  you  know  how  grateful  we 
are  to  you." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Romer.  "Don't 
mention  it.  Good-by." 

In  the  street  Mr.  Flint  said,  "  I'll  invite  myself 


"SICK  OF  A  FEVER"  239 

to  go  home  with  you.  I  want  to  see  how  badly  off 
the  poor  boy  is." 

In  Beekman  Place  they  made  the  "arrangements 
that  the  doctor  had  indicated  for  Arthur's  recep 
tion,  and  then  sat  down  in  the  drawing-room  to 
await  his  coming.  By  and  by  the  ambulance  rolled 
up  to  the  door. 

They  hurried  out  upon  the  stoop.  A  good  many 
of  the  neighbors  had  come  to  their  windows,  and 
there  was  a  small  army  of  inquisitive  children 
bivouacked  upon  the  curbstone.  Mrs.  Berle  ran 
across  from  her  house,  and  talked  excitedly  to  Mrs. 
Hart.  Of  course,  all  Beekman  Place  had  read  in 
the  newspapers  of  Judith  Peixada's  arrest. 

The  doctor,  assisted  by  the  driver,  lifted  the  sick 
man  out.  He  lay  at  full  length  upon  a  canvas 
stretcher.  His  face  had  assumed  a  cadaverous, 
greenish  tinge.  His  big  blue  eyes,  wide  open, 
were  fixed  upon  the  empty  air  above  them.  To 
all  appearances,  he  was  still  unconscious. 

They  carried  him  up  the  stoop  ;  through  the 
hall,  and  into  the  room  above-stairs  to  which  Mrs. 
Hart  conducted  them.  There  they  laid  him  on  the 
bed. 

"  Now,"  said  the  doctor,  "  first  of  all,  send  for 
your  own  physician.  I  must  see  him  and  confer 
with  him,  before  I  go  away." 

Mrs.  Hart  left  the  room,  to  obey  the  doctor's 
injunction. 

"  You,  Jake,"  the  doctor  went  on,  addressing  the 
driver,  "  needn't  wait.  Drive  back  to  the  hospital, 


240  MKS.  PEIXADA. 

and  tell  them  that  I'll  come  as  soon  as  I  can  be 
spared." 

"  Here,  Jake,  before  you  go,"  said  Mr.  Flint,  pro 
ducing  his  purse. 

"  Oh,  thanks.  Can't  accept  any  thing,  sir," 
responded  Jake,  and  vanished. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  resumed  the  doctor,  "just 
lend  a  hand,  and  help  undress  him." 

Following  the  doctor's  directions,  they  got  the 
patient  out  of  his  clothes.  He  seemed  to  be  a  mere 
limp,  inert  mass  of  flesh,  and  displayed  no  symp 
toms  of  realizing  what  was  going  on.  His  extremi 
ties  were  ice-cold.  His  forehead  was  hot.  His 
breath  was  labored. 

"  A  very  sick  man,  I'm  afraid,  isn't  he,  doctor  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Flint. 

"  I'm  afraid  so." 

The  doctor  covered  him  with  the  bed-clothes. 

"  What  do  you  think  is  the  matter  with  him  ? " 
Mr.  Flint  pursued. 

"  Oh,  it  hasn't  developed  sufficiently  yet  to  be 
classified.  His  mind  must  have  been  undergoing 
a  strain  for  some  time,  I  guess ;  and  now  he's 
broken  down  beneath  it." 

"  He's  quite  unconscious,  apparently." 

"  Yes,  in  a  sort  of  lethargy.  That's  what  makes 
the  case  a  puzzle.  Won't  you  order  a  hot-water 
bottle,  somebody  ? " 

Hetzel  left  the  room.  In  a  moment  he  brought 
the  bottle  of  hot  water.  The  doctor  applied  it  to 
Arthur's  feet. 


"  SICK  OF  A  FEVER  r  241 

"  And  the  chopped  ice  ? "  Hetzel  inquired. 

The  doctor  placed  his  hand  upon  Arthur's  brow. 

"  N — no  ;  we  won't  use  the  chopped  ice  yet  a 
while,"  he  answered. 

By  and  by  a  bell  rang  down-stairs.  A  little  later 
Mrs.  Hart  came  in. 

"  Our  doctor — Dr.  Letzup — is  here,"  she 
announced. 

Dr.  Letzup  entered. 

"  I  suppose  you  medical  men  would  like  to  be 
left  alone  ?  "  said  Mr.  Flint. 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so,"  said  the  hospital-doctor. 

Mrs.  Hart  led  the  way  into  the  adjoining  room. 
There  our  friends  maintained  a  melancholy  silence. 
Mrs.  Hart's  cats  slept  comfortably,  one  upon  the 
sofa,  the  other  upon  the  rug  before  the  mantel 
piece.  The  voices  of  the  two  physicians,  in  earnest 
conversation,  were  audible  through  the  closed 
door. 

Presently  Mrs.  Hart  jumped  up. 

"What — what  now?"     Mr.  Flint  questioned. 

"  I  heard  one  of  them  step  into  the  hall.  Per 
haps  they  need  something." 

She  hurried  to  the  threshold.  There  she  con 
fronted  the  hospital-doctor.  He  had  his  hand 
raised,  as  if  on  the  point  of  rapping  for  admit 
tance. 

"  Ah,  I  was  looking  for  you,"  he  explained.  "  I 
am  going  now.  I  don't  see  that  I  can  be  of  any 
further  use." 

"  How  is  Arthur  ?  " 


242  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  About  as  he  was.  Dr.  Letzup  has  taken  charge 
of  him.  Well,  good  day." 

"  Oh,  you  shan't  leave  us  in  this  way,"  protested 
Mrs.  Hart.  "  You  must  at  least  wait  and  let  me 
offer  you  a  glass  of  wine." 

"I'm  much  obliged,"  said  the  doctor;  "but they 
are  expecting  me  in  Chambers  Street." 

Mrs.  Hart,  flanked  by  Mr.  Flint  and  Hetzel, 
accompanied  him  to  the  vestibule.  All  three  did 
their  utmost  to  thank  him  adequately  for  the  pains 
he  had  taken  in  their  behalf.  Returning  up-stairs, 
they  were  joined  by  Dr.  Letzup. 

"  Well,  doctor  ?  "  began  Mrs.  Hart. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Hart,"  the  doctor  replied, "  our  friend 
in  the  next  room  has  been  exciting  himself  lately, 
hasn't  he  ?  What  he  wants  now  it  a  trained  nurse, 
soothing  medicines,  and  perfect  quiet.  The  first 
two  I'm  going  to  send  around,  as  soon  as  I  leave 
the  house.  For  the  last,  he  must  depend  upon  you. 
That  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  he  will  have  it. 
Therefore,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  you  have  every 
reason  to  be  hopeful." 

"  What  do  you  take  his  trouble  to  be,  doctor  ?" 
asked  Hetzel. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  of  any  special  name  for  it," 
said  the  doctor.  "  The  poor  fellow  must  have  been 
careless  of  himself  recently— worrying,  probably, 
about  something — and  then  came  a  shock  of  one 
kind  or  another— collapse  of  stock  he'd  been  invest 
ing  in,  or  what  not— and  so  he  went  under.  We'll 
fetch  him  up  again,  fast  enough.  The  main  thing 


"SICK  OF  A  FEVER"  243 

is  to  steer  him  clear  of  brain  fever.  I  think  we  can 
do  it.  If  it  turns  out  that  we  can't— if  the  fever 
should  develop — then,  we'll  go  to  work  and  pilot 
him  safely  through  it.  Now  I  must  be  off.  Some 
one  had  better  stay  with  him  till  the  nurse  comes. 
Keep  him  warm— hot  water  at  his  feet,  you  know, 
and  bed-clothes  tucked  in  about  his  shoulders. 
When  the  nurse  turns  up,  she'll  give  him  his  medi 
cines.  I'll  call  again  after  dinner." 

Mr.  Flint  left  a  little  later. 

"  I  suppose  I  shan't  be  of  any  assistance,  but 
merely  in  the  way,  by  remaining  here.  So  I'll 
go  home.  But  of  course  you'll  notify  me  instantly 
if  there  should  be  a  change  for  the  worse,"  was  his 
valedictory. 

After  dinner  the  doctor  called,  pursuant  to  his 
promise.  Having  visited  his  patient,  and  held  an 
interview  with  the  nurse,  he  beckoned  Hetzel  to  one 
side. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  he  said,  "  but  I'm  afraid 
it's  going  to  be  brain  fever,  after  all.  He's  a  little 
delirious  just  now,  and  his  temperature  is  higher 
than  I  should  like.  The  nurse  will  take  perfect 
care  of  him.  You'd  better  go  to  bed  early  and 
sleep  well,  so  as  to  be  fresh  and  able  to  relieve  her 
in  the  morning.  Good  night." 

"  Good  night." 

"  What  did  the  doctor  say  to  you  ?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Hart. 

Hetzel  told  her. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  HOW  SHE    ENDEAVORED    TO    EXPLAIN    HER  LIFE." 

THURSDAY  morning  it  rained.  Hetzel  was 
seated  in  Mrs.  Hart's  dining-room,  making 
such  an  apology  for  a  breakfast  as,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  could  be  expected  of  him,  when  the 
waitress  announced  that  Josephine  was  in  the 
kitchen,  and  wished  to  speak  with  her  master. 

"  All  right,"  said  Hetzel  ;  "  ask  her  to  step  this 
way." 

Josephine  presented  herself.  Not  without  some 
embarrassment,  she  declared  that  she  had  heard 
what  rumor  had  to  say  of  Mrs.  Ripley's  imprison 
ment  and  of  Mr.  Ripley's  sickness,  and  that  she 
was  anxious  to  learn  the  very  truth  of  the  matter 
from  Hetzel's  lips.  Hetzel  replied  good-naturedly 
to  her  interrogations  ;  and  at  length  Josephine  rose 
to  go  her  way.  But  having  attained  the  door,  she 
halted  and  faced  about. 

"  Ach  Gott!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  was  forgetting 
about  these."  She  drew  a  bunch  of  letters  from 
her  pocket,  and  deposited  them  upon  the  table 
beside  Hetzel's  plate. 

Alone,  Hetzel  picked  the   letters  up,  and  began 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  245 

to  study  their  superscriptions.  One  by  one,  he 
threw  them  aside  without  breaking  their  seals,  till 
at  last  "  Hello!  "  he  cried,  "  who  has  been  writing 
a  book  for  me  to  read  ?  Half  an  inch  thick,  as  I'm 
alive  ;  looks  like  a  lady's  hand,  too  ;  seems  some 
how  as  though  I  recognized  it.  Let  me  see. — Ah  ! 
I  remember.  It  must  be  from  her  !  " 

Without  further  preliminary,  he  pushed  back  his 
chair,  tore  the  envelope  open,  and  set  out  to  read 
the  missive  through. 

"  DEAR  MR.  HETZEL  :  I  received  a  very  kind 
note  from  you  last  night,  and  I  should  have  an 
swered  it  at  once,  only  I  had  so  much  to  say  that  I 
thought  it  would  be  better  to  wait  till  morning,  in 
order  to  begin  and  finish  it  at  a  sitting.  The  lights 
are  turned  off  here  at  nine  o'clock  :  and  therefore  if 
I  had  begun  to  write  last  evening,  I  should  have 
been  interrupted  in  the  midst  of  it  ;  and  that 
would  have  rendered  doubly  difficult  what  in  itself 
is  difficult  enough. 

"  I  have  much  to  explain,  much  to  justify,  much 
to  ask  forgiveness  for.  I  am  going  to  bring  myself 
to  say  things  to  you,  which,  a  few  days  ago,  I 
believed  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  say  to 
any  living  being,  except  my  husband  ;  and  it  would 
have  been  no  easy  matter  to  say  them  to  him.  But 
a  great  change  has  happened  in  the  last  few  days. 
Now  I  can  not  say  those  things  to  my  husband — 
never  can.  Now  my  wretched  failure  of  a  life  is 
nearly  ended.  I  am  going  to  a  prison  where,  I 
know  very  well,  I  shall  not  survive  a  great  while. 


246  AIRS.  PEIXADA. 

And  something,  which  there  is  no  need  to  analyze, 
impels  me  to  put  in  writing  such  an  explanation  of 
what  I  have  done  and  left  undone  in  this  world,  as 
I  may  be  able  to  make.  Perhaps  I  am  prompted 
to  this  course  by  pride,  or  if  you  choose,  by  vanity. 
However  that  may  be,  I  do  feel  that  in  justice  to 
myself  as  well  as  to  my  friends,  I  ought  to  try  to 
state  the  head  and  front  of  my  offending  so  as  to 
soften  the  judgment  that  people  aware  only  of  my 
outward  acts,  and  ignorant  of  my  inner  motives, 
would  be  disposed  to  pass  upon  me.  I  have  ven 
tured  to  address  myself  to  you,  instead  of  to  Mrs. 
Hart,  out  of  consideration  for  her.  It  would  be 
too  hard  for  her  to  have  to  read  this  writing 
through.  You,  having  read  it,  can  repeat  its  upshot 
to  her  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  it  easier  for  her 
to  bear.  I  know  that. you  will  be  willing  to  do  this, 
because  I  know  that  both  she  and  I  have  always 
had  a  friend  in  you. 

"  For  my  own  assistance,  let  me  state  clearly 
beforehand  the  points  upon  which  I  must  touch  in 
this  letter.  First,  I  must  explain  why,  having  a 
blot  upon  my  life — being,  that  is  to  say,  who  I  am 
— I  allowed  Arthur  Ripley  to  marry  me.  Then  I 
must  go  on  to  perform  that  most  painful  task  of 
all — tell  the  story  of  the  death  of  Bernard  Peixada 
and  Edward  Bolen.  Next,  I  must  justify — what 
you  appear  to  misunderstand,  though  the  grounds 
of  it  are  really  very  simple — the  deep  resentment 
which  I  can  not  help  cherishing  against  your  bosom 
friend,  my  husband.  Finally,  I  must  give  the  rea- 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  247 

sons  that  induced  me  to  plead  guilty  of  murder  an 
hour  ago  in  court. 

"  But  no.  I  have  put  things  in  their  wrong 
order  at  the  outset.  It  will  not  be  possible  for  me 
to  explain  why  I  consented  to  become  Arthur's 
wife,  until  I  have  given  you  the  true  history  of 
Bernard  Peixada's  death.  I  must  command  my 
utmost  strength  to  do  this.  I  must  forget  nothing. 
I  must  force  myself  to  recount  every  circumstance, 
hateful  as  the  whole  subject  is.  I  must  search  my 
memory,  subdue  my  feelings,  and  as  dispassion 
ately  as  will  be  possible,  put  the  entire  miserable 
tale  in  writing.  I  pray  God  to  help  me. 

"  I  am  just  twenty-six  years  old — ten  months 
younger  than  Arthur.  My  birthday  fell  while  he 
and  I  were  at  New  Castle  together — August  4th. 
How  little  I  guessed  then  that  in  ten  days  every 
thing  would  be  so  altered  !  It  is  strange.  I  trusted 
him  as  I  trusted  myself.  I  could  not  conceive  the 
possibility  of  his  deceiving  me.  He  seemed  so 
sincere,  so  simple-minded,  so  single-hearted,  I 
could  as  easily  have  fancied  a  toad  issuing  from  his 
mouth,  as  a  lie.  Yet  all  the  time — even  while  we 
were  alone  together  there  in  New  Castle — he  was 
lying  to  me.  That  whole  fortnight — that  seemed 
so  wonderfully  serene  and  pure  and  light — was  one 
dark  falsehood.  Even  then,  he  was  having  my 
career  investigated  here  in  New  York,  behind  my 
back.  And  I— I  had  offered  to  tell  him  every  thing. 
Painful  as  it  would  have  been,  I  should  have  told 
him  the  whole  story  ;  but  he  would  not  let  me. 


2 48  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

He  preferred  to  hear  Benjamin  Peixada's— my 
enemy's — version  of  it.  Even  now,  when  I  have — 
plenty — to  remind  me  of  the  truth,  even  now,  I 
can  scarcely  believe  it. 

"  But  I  must  not  deviate.  As  I  was  saying,  I 
am  twenty-six  years  old.  More  than  six  years  ago, 
when  I  was  nineteen,  nearing  twenty,  my  father  said 
to  me  one  day,  <  Mr.  Peixada  has  done  us  the  honor 
to  ask  for  your  hand  in  marriage.  We  have 
accepted.  So,  on  the  eighth  of  next  August,  you 
will  be  married  to  him.' 

"  You  can  not  realize,  Mr.  Hetzel,  a  tithe  of  the 
horror  I  experienced  when  my  father  spoke  those 
words  to  me,  until  I  have  gone  back  further  still, 
and  told  something  of  my  life  up  to  that  time.  At 
this  moment,  as  I  recall  the  occasion  of  my  father's 
saying  that  to  me,  my  heart  turns  to  ice,  my  cheeks 
burn,  my  limbs  quake,  my  nature  recoils  with  dis 
gust  and  loathing.  It  is  painful  to  have  to  go  over 
it  all  again,  to  have  to  live  through  it  all  again  ; 
yet  that  is  what  I  have  started  out  to  do. 

"  You  must  know,  to  begin  with,  that  my  father 
was  a  watchmaker,  and  that  he  kept  a  shop  on 
Second  Avenue,  between  Sixth  and  Seventh  Streets. 
He  was  a  man  of  great  intelligence,  of  uncommon 
cultivation,  and  of  a  most  gentle  and  affectionate 
disposition  ;  but  he  was  a  Jew  of  the  sternest  ortho 
doxy,  and  he  held  old-fashioned,  orthodox  notions 

<~>f    tl~IF>    n1"»pH  i^nr-f    /^1ll1/-1r/an   nnro  f  r\  fKoit-    r-\^  r-^r-if  o  A/T-.T 


of  the  obedience  children  owe  to  their  parents.  My 
father  in  his  youth  had  intended  to  become  a  phy 
sician  ;  but  while  he  was  a  student  in  Berlin,  in 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE:1  249 

1848,  the  revolution  broke  out ;  he  took  part  in  it ; 
and  as  a  consequence  he  had  to  leave  Germany  and 
come  to  America  before  he  had  won  his  diploma. 
Here,  friendless,  penniless,  he  fell  in  with  a  jeweler, 
named  Oppenhym,  who  offered  to  teach  him  his 
trade.  Thus  he  became  an  apprentice,  then  a  jour 
neyman,  finally  a  proprietor.  I  was  born  in  the 
house  on  Second  Avenue,  in  the  basement  of  which 
my  father  kept  his  shop.  We  lived  up  stairs.  Our 
family  consisted  only  of  my  father  and  mother, 
myself,  and  my  father's  intimate  friend,  Marcus 
Nathan.  Mr.  Nathan  was  a  very  learned  gentle 
man,  who  had  been  a  widower  and  childless  for 
many  years,  and  who  acted  as  chazzan  in  our  syna 
gogue.  It  was  to  him  that  my  father  confided  my 
education.  It  was  he  who  first  taught  me  to  read 
and  write  and  to  care  for  books  and  music.  How 
good  and  loyal  a  friend  he  was  to  me  you  will  learn 
later  on.  He  died  early  in  1880.  ...  I  did  not  go 
to  school  till  I  was  thirteen  years  old.  Then  I  was"~\ 
sent  to  the  public  school  in  Twelfth  Street,  and  \  ^ 
thence  to  the  Normal  College,  where  I  graduated 
in  1876.  I  studied  the  piano  at  home  under  the 
direction  of  a  woman  named  Emily  Millard — an 
accomplished  musician,  but  unkind  and  cruel.  She 
used  to  pull  my  hair  and  pinch  me,  when  I  made 
mistakes  ;  and  afterward,  when  they  tried  me  in 
the  court  of  General  Sessions  for  Bernard  Peixada's 
murder,  Miss  Millard  came  and  swore  that  I  was 
bad. 

"  Bernard   Peixada — whom  the  newspapers  de- 


25°  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

scribed  as  '  a  retired  Jewish  merchant ' — was  a 
pawnbroker.  His  shop  was  straight  across  the 
street  from  ours.  I  never  in  my  life  saw  another 
structure  of  brick  and  mortar  that  seemed  to  frown 
with  such  sinister  significance,  with  such  ominous 
suggestiveness,  upon  the  street  in  front  of  it  as  did 
that  house  of  Bernard  Peixada's.  It  was  a  brick 
house  ;  but  the  bricks  were  concealed  by  a  coat  of 
dark  gray  stucco,  with  blotches  here  and  there  that 
were  almost  black.  The  shop,  of  course,  was  on 
the  ground  floor.  Its  broad  windows  were  pro 
tected,  like  those  of  a  jail,  by  heavy  iron  bars. 
Within  them  was  exhibited  an  assortment  of  such 
goods  and  chattels  as  the  pawnbroker  had  contrived 
to  purchase  from  distress — musical  instruments, 
household  ornaments,  kitchen  utensils,  firearms, 
tarnished  suits  of  uniform,  faded  bits  of  women's 
finery — ex  voto  offerings  at  the  shrine  of  Mammon. 
Behind  these,  all  was  darkness,  and  mystery,  and 
gloom.  Over  the  door,  three  golden  balls — golden 
they  had  been  once,  but  were  no  longer,  tharjks  to 
the  thief,  Time,  abetted  by  wind  and  weather — the 
pawnbroker's  escutcheon,  swayed  in  the  breeze. 
Higher  up  still — big,  white,  ghastly  letters  on  a 
sable  background — hung  a  sign,  bearing  a  legend 
like  this  : 

B.  PEIXADA. 

Money  lent  on  watches,  jewelry,  precious 
stones,  and  all  varieties  of  personal  prop 
erty. 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  251 

And  on  the  side  door,  the  door  that  let  into  the 
private  hallway  of  the  house,  was  screwed  a  solemn 
brass  plate,   with  *  B.   Peixada '   engraved   in    Old 
English  characters  upon  it.     (When  Bernard  Peix 
ada  retired  from  business,  he  was  succeeded  by  one 
B.   Peinard.     On  taking  possession,   Mr.  Peinard, 
for  economy's  sake,  caused  the  last  four  letters  of 
Bernard  Pei-xada's  name  on  the  sign  to  be  painted 
out,  and  the  corresponding  letters  of  his  own  name 
to  be  painted  in  :  so  that,   to  this  day,  the  time- 
stained  PEI  stands  as  it  used  to  stand  years  ago-, 
and  contrasts  oddly  with  the  more  recent  NARD 
that  follows.)     As   I   have  said,  the  shop  windows 
were  defended  by  an  iron  grating.     The  other  win 
dows — those  of  the  three  upper  stories — were  her 
metically  sealed.     I,  at  least,  never  saw  them  open. 
The  blinds,  once  green,  doubtless,  but  blackened 
by  age,  were  permanently  closed  ;  and  the  stucco 
beneath  them  was  fantastically  frescoed  with  the 
dirt  that  had  been  washed  from  them  by  the  rain. 
I  think  it  was  partly  due  to  these  black  blinds,  and 
to  the  queer  shapes  that  the  dirt  had  taken  on  the 
wall,   that   the   house   had  that  peculiarly  sinister 
aspect  that  I  have  spoken  of.     At  all  events,  you 
could  not  glance  at  its  fa?ade  without  shuddering. 
As  early  a  recollection  as  any  that  I  have,  is  of  how 
I  used  to  sit  at  our  front  windows,  and  gaze  over  at 
Bernard  Peixada's,  and  work  myself  into  a  very 
ecstasy  of  fear  by  trying  to   imagine  the  dark  and^ 
terrible  things  that  were  stored  behind  them.     My; 
worst  nightmares  used  to  be  that  I  was  a  prisoner 

-J 


252  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

in  Bernard  Peixada's  house.  I  never  dreamed 
that  some  time  my  most  hideous  nightmare  would 
be  surpassed  by  the  fact. 

"  But  if  I  used  to  terrify  myself  by  the  sight  of 
Bernard  Peixada's  dwelling,  much  keener  was  the 
terror  with  which  Bernard  Peixada's  person  inspired 
me.  Picture  to  yourself  a — creature— six  feet  tall, 
gaunt  as  a  skeleton,  always  dressed  jn  black — in 
black  broadcloth,  that  glistened  like  a  snake's  skin 
—with  a  head — my  pen  revolts  from  an  attempt  to 
describe  it.  Yet  I  must  describe  it,  so  that  you 
may  appreciate  a  little  what  I  endured  when  my 
father  said  that  he  had  chosen  Bernard  Peixada  for 
my  husband.  Well,  Bernard  Peixada's  head  was 
thus  :  a  hawk's  beak  for  a  nose,  a  hawk's  beak  I 
inverted  for  a  chin  ;  lips,  two  thin,  blue,  crooked 
lines  across  his  face,  with  yellow  fangs  behind  them, 
that  shone  horribly  when  he  laughed  ;  eyes,  two 
black,  shiny  beads,  deep-set  beneath  prominent, 
black,  shaggy  brows,  with  the  malevolence  of  a 
demon  aflame  deep  down  in  them  ;  skull,  destitute 
of  honest  hair,  but  kept  warm  by  a  curling,  reddish 
wig  ;  skin,  dry  and  sallow  as  old  parchment,  on 
which  dark  wrinkles  were  traced — a  cryptogram, 
with  a  meaning,  but  one  which  I  could  not  perfectly 
decipher  ;  these  were  the  elements  of  Bernard 
Peixada's  physiognomy— fit  features  for  a  bird  of 
prey,  were  they  not  ?  Have  you  ever  seen  his 
brother,  Benjamin  ?  the  friend  of  Arthur  Ripley  ? 
Benjamin  is  corpulent,  florid,  and  on  the  whole  not 
ill-looking — morally  and  physically  vastly  superior 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  253 

to  his  elder  brother.  But  fancy  Benjamin  pumped 
dry  of  blood,  shrunken  to  the  dimensions  of  a 
mummy,  then  bewigged,  then  caricatured  by  an 
enemy,  and  you  .will  form  a  tolerably  vivid  concep 
tion  of  how  Bernard  Peixada  looked.  But  his  looks 
were  not  all.  His  voice,  I  think,  was  worse.  It 
was  a  thin,  piercing  voice  that,  when  I  heard  it, 
used  to  set  my  heart  palpitating  with  a  hundred 
horrible  emotions.  It  was  a  dry,  metallic  voice 
that  grated  like  a  file.  It  was  a  sharp,  jerky  voice 
that  seemed  to  chop  the  air,  each  word  sounding 
like  a  blow  from  an  ax.  It  was  a  voice  which 
could  not  be  forced  to  say  a  kind  and  human  thing. 
Cruelty  and  harshness  were  natural  to  it.  I  can 
hear  it  ringing  in  my  ears,  as  I  am  writing  now; 
and  it  makes  my  heart  sink  and  my  hand  tremble, 
as  it  used  to  do  when  I  indeed  heard  it,  issuing 
from  his  foul,  cruel  mouth.  Will  you  be  surprised 
— will  you  think 'I  am  exaggerating — when  I  say  , 
that  Bernard  Peixada's  hideousness  did  not  end 
with  his  voice  ?  I  should  do  his  portrait  an  injustice 
if  I  were  to  omit  mention  of  his  hands — his  claws, 
rather,  for  claws  they  were  shaped  like  ;  and, 
instead  of  fingers,  they  were  furnished  with  long, 
brown,  bony  talons,  terminated  by  black,  untrimmed 
nails.  I  do  not  believe  I  ever  saw  Bernard  Peixada's 
hands  in  repose.  They  were  in  perpetual,  nervous 
motion — the  talons  clutching  at  the  air,  if  at  nothing 
more  substantial — even  when  he  slept.  The  most 
painful  dreams  that  I  have  had,  since  God  delivered 
me  of  him,  have  been  those  in  which  I  have  seen 


254  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

his  hands,  working,  working,  the  fingers  writhing 
like  serpents,  as  they  were  wont  to  do  in  life.  Oh, 
such  a  monstrosity  !  Oh,  such  a  wicked  travesty 
of  man  !  This,  Mr.  Hetzel,  was  the  person  to 
whom  my  father  proposed  to  marry  me.  There 
was  no  one  to  plead  for  me,  no  one  to  interfere  in 
my  behalf.  And  I  was  a  young  girl,  nineteen  years 
old. 

"  How  could  my  father  do  it  ?  How  could  he 
bring  himself  to  do  this  thing  ?  It  is  a  long  story. 

"Tn  the  first  place,  Bernard  Peixada  was 
accounted  a  most  estimable  member  of  society. 
He  was  rich  ;  he  was  pious  ;  he  was  eminently 
respectable.  His  ill-looks  were  ignored.  Was  he 
to  blame  for  them?  people  asked.  Did  he  not 
close  his  shop  regularly  on  every  holiday  ?  Who 
was  more  precise  than  he  in  observing  the  feasts 
and  fasts  of  the  Hebrew  calendar  ?  or  in  attending 
services  at  the  Synagogue  ?  Was  smoke  ever  to 
be  seen  issuing  from  his  chimneys  on  the  Sabbath  ? 
Old  as  he  was,  did  he  not  abstain  from  food  on  the 
fast  of  Gedalia,  and  on  that  of  Tebeth,  and  on  that 
of  Tamuz,  as  well  as  on  the  Ninth  of  Ab  and  on 
Yom  Kippur  ?  Had  he  not,  year  after  year,  been 
elected  and  re-elected  P amass  of  the  congregation  ? 
All  honor  to  him,  then,  for  a  wise  man  and  an 
upright  man  in  the  way  of  the  law  !  It  was  thus 
•  that  public  opinion  in  our  small  world  treated 
Bernard  Peixada.  On  the  theory  that  handsome 
is  that  handsome  does,  he  got  the  credit  of  being 
quite  a  paragon  of  beauty.  To  be  sure,  he  lacked 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  255 

social  qualities — he  was  scarcely  a  hail-fellow-well-, 
met.  He  cared  little  for  wine  and  tobacco — he 
abhorred  dominoes — he  could  not  be  induced  to  sit 
down  to  a  game  of  penacle j  but  all  the  better! 
The  absence  of  these  frivolous  interests  proved 
him  to  be  a  man  of  responsible  weight  and  gravity. 
It  was  a  pity  he  had  never  married.  Perhaps  it 
was  not  yet  too  late.  Lucky  the  girl  upon  whom 
his  eye  should  turn  with  favor.  If  he  had  not  youth 
and  bodily  grace  to  offer  her,  he  had,  at  least, 
wealth,  wisdom,  and  respectability. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  had  been  the  black  beast  of 
my  childhood.  When  I  would  go  with  my  mother 
to  the  Synagogue,  and  sit  with  her  in  the  women's 
gallery,  I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  off  Bernard 
Peixada,  who  occupied  the  president's  chair  down 
stairs.  The  sight  of  him  had  an  uncanny  fascina 
tion  for  me.  As  I  grew  older,  it  was  still  the  same. 
Bernard  Peixada  personified  to  me  all  that  was  evil 
in  human  nature.  He  was  the  Ahriman,  the 
Antichrist,  of  my  theology.  He  made  my  flesh 

creep gave  me  a  sensation  similar  to  that  which  a 

snake  gives  one— only  incomparably  more  intense. 

"  Well,  one  evening  in  the  early  spring  of  1878,  I 
was  seated  in  our  little  parlor  over  the  shop, 
striving  to  entertain  a  very  dull  young  man — a  Mr. 
Rimo,  Bernard  Peixada's  nephew — when  the  door 
opened,  and  who  should  come  gliding  in  but 
Bernard  Peixada  himself  ?  I  had  never  before  seen 
him  at  such  close  quarters,  unless  my  father  or 
mother  or  Mr.  Nathan  was  present  too  ;  and  then 


256  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

I  had  derived  a  sense  of  security  from  realizing 
that  I  had  a  friend  near  by.  But  now,  here  he  was 
in  the  very  room  with  me,  and  I  all  alone,  except 
for  this  nephew  of  his,  Mr.  Rimo.  I  had  to  catch 
for  my  breath,  and  my  heart  grew  faint  within  me. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  simply  said  good  evening  and 
sat  down.  I  do  not  remember  that  he  spoke  an 
other  word  until  he  rose  to  go  away.  But  for  two 
hours  he  sat  there  opposite  me,  and  not  for  one  in 
stant  did  he  take  his  eyes  from  off  my  face.  He 
sat  still,  like  a  toad,  and  leered  at  me.  His  blue 
lips  were  curled  into  a  grin,  which,  no  doubt, 
was  intended  to  be  reassuring,  but  which,  in  fact, 
sent  cold  shivers  chasing  down  my  back.  He 
stared  at  me  as  he  might  have  stared  at  some  inani 
mate  object  that  had  been  offered  to  him  in  pawn. 
Then  at  last,  when  he  must  have  learned  every 
line  and  angle  of  my  face  by  rote,  he  got  up  and 
went  away,  leading  Mr.  Rimo  after  him. 

"  I  lay  awake  all  that  night,  wondering  what  Ber 
nard  Peixada's  visit  meant,  hoping  that  it  meant 
nothing,  fearing — but  it  would  take  too  long  for 
me  to  tell  you  all  I  feared.  Suffice  it  that  the  next 
afternoon — I  was  seated  in  my  bed-room,  trying  to 
divert  my  imagination  with  a  tale  of  Hawthorne's — 
the  next  afternoon  my  father  called  me  into  his  office 
behind  the  shop,  and  there  in  the  presence  of  my 
mother  he  corroborated  the  worst  fears  that  had 
beset  me  during  the  night. 

"  '  Judith,'  he  said,  '  our  neighbor,  Mr.  Peixada, 
has  done  us  the  honor  of  proposing  for  your  hand. 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE:'  257 

Of  course  we  have  accepted.  He  designates  the 
eighth  of  August  for  the  wedding-day.  That  will 
give  you  plenty  of  time  to  get  ready  in  ;  and  on 
Sundays  you  will  stay  at  home  to  receive  congratu 
lations.  ' 

"  It  took  a  little  while,  Mr.  Hetzel,  for  the  full 
meaning  of  my  father's  speech  to  penetrate  my  mind. 
At  first  I  did  not  comprehend — I  was  stupified,  be 
wildered.  My  senses  were  benumbed.  Mechani 
cally,  I  watched  my  father's  canary-bird  hop  from 
perch  to  perch  in  his  cage,  and  listened  to  the 
shrill  whistle  that  he  uttered  from  time  to  time.  I 
was  conscious  of  a  dizziness  in  my  head,  of  a  sick 
ness  and  a  chill  over  all  my  body.  But  then,  sud 
denly,  the  horror  shot  through  me — pierced 
my  consciousness  like  a  knife.  Suddenly  my 
senses  became  wonderfully  clear.  I  saw  the 
black  misery  that  they  had  prepared  for  me, 
in  a  quick,  vivid  tableau  before  my  eyes.  I  trembled 
from  head  to  foot.  I  tried  to  speak,  to  cry  out,  to 
protest.  If  I  could  only  have  let  the  pain  break 
forth  in  an  inarticulate  moan,  it  would  have  been 
some  relief.  But  my  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of 
my  mouth.  I  could  not  utter  a  sound. 

" '  Well,  Judith,'  said  my  father,  <  why  don't  you 
speak  ? ' 

"  His  words  helped  me  to  find  my  voice. 

"  '  Speak  ! '  I  cried.  <  What  is  there  to  say  ?  Marry 
Bernard  Peixada  ?  Marry  that  monster  ?  I  will 
never  marry  him.  I  would  a  thousand  times  rather 
die.' 


258  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  My  mother  and  father  looked  at  me  and  at 
each  other  in  dismay. 

"  '  Judith,'  said  my  father,  sternly,  '  that  is  not 
the  language  that  a  daughter  should  use  toward 
her  parents.  That  is  not  the  way  a  young  lady 
should  feel,  either.  Of  course  you  will  marry  Mr. 
Peixada.  Don't  make  a  scene  about  it.  It  has  all 
been  arranged  between  us  ;  and  your  betrothed  is 
coming  to  claim  you  in  half  an  hour.' 

" '  Father,'  I  answered,  very  calmly,  *  I  am  sorry 
to  rebel  against  your  authority,  but  I  tell  you  now, 
once  for  all,  I  will  not  marry  Bernard  Peixada.' 

"Judith,'  rejoined  my  father,  imitating  my  man 
ner,  '  I  am  sorry  to  contradict  you,  but  I  tell  you 
now,  once  for  all,  you  will.' 

" '  Never,'  said  I. 

" '  On  the  eighth  of  August,'  said  my  father. 

"  '  Time  will  show,'  said  I. 

"  *  Time  will  show,'  said  he,  *  in  less  than  fifteen 
minutes.  Judith,  listen.' 

"  It  was  an  old  story  that  my  father  now  pro 
ceeded  to  tell  me — old,  and  yet  as  new  as  it  is  terri 
ble  to  the  girl  who  has  to  listen  to  it.  It  does  not 
break  the  heart  in  two,  like  the  old,  old  story  of 
Heine's  song  :  it  inflames  the  heart  with  a  dull,  sul 
len  anguish  that  is  the  worst  pain  a  woman  can  be 
called  upon  to  endure.  My  father  told  me  how 
for  two  years  past  his  pecuniary  affairs  had  been 
going  to  the  dogs  ;  how  he  had  been  getting  poor 
and  poorer  ;  how  he  had  become  Bernard  Peixada's 
debtor  for  sums  of  money  that  he  could  never  hope 
rx 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE,"  259 

to  pay  ;  how  Bernard  Peixada  owned  not  only  the 
wares  in  our  shop,  but  the  very  chairs  we  sat  on,  the 
very  beds  we  slept  in,  the  very  plates  off  which  we 
ate  ;  how,  indeed,  it  was  Bernard  Peixada  who  paid 
for  the  daily  bread  that  kept  our  bodies  and  souls 
together.  My  father  explained  all  this  to  me, 
concluding  thus :  '  I  was  in  despair,  Judith.  I 
thought  I  should  go  crazy.  I  saw  nothing  but  dis-  _^ 
grace  and  the  poor-house  before  your  mother  and 
you  and  me.  I  could  not  sleep  at  night.  I  could 
not  work  during  the  day.  I  could  do  nothing  but 
think,  think,  think  of  the  desperate  pass  to  which 
my  affairs  had  come.  It  was  an  agony,  Judith. 
It  would  soon  have  killed  me,  or  driven  me 
mad.  Then,  all  at  Once,  the  darkness  of  my 
sky  is  lightened  by  this  good  man,  whom  I  have 
already  to  thank  for  so  much.  He  calls  upon  me. 
He  says  he  will  show  me  a  way  out  of  my  difficulties. 
I  ask  what  it  is.  He  answers,  why  not  unite  our 
families,  accept  him  as  my  son-in-law  ?  and  adds 
that  between  son-in-law  and  father-in-law  there  can 
be  no  question  of  indebtedness.  In  other  words,  he 
told  me  that  he  loved  you,  Judith  ;  that  he  wished 
to  marry  you  ;  and  that,  once  married  to  you,  he 
would  consider  my  debts  to  him  discharged.  Try, 
Judith,  to  realize  his  generosity.  I — I  owe  him 
thousands.  But  for  him  we  should  have  starved. 
But  for  him,  we  should  starve  to-morrow.  Ordin 
ary  gratitude  alone  would  have  been  enough  to 
compel  me  to  say  yes  to  his  proposition.  But  by 
saying  yes,  did  I  not  also  accomplish  our  own  sal- 


260  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

vation  ?  Now  that  you  have  heard  the  whole  story, 
Judith,  now,  like  a  good  girl,  promise  to  make  no 
opposition.' 

"  *  So  that,'  I  retorted,  indignantly,  '  I  am  to  be 
your  ransom — I  am  to  be  sacrificed  as  a  hostage. 
The  pawnbroker  consents  to  receive  me  as  an  equiv 
alent  for  the  money  you  owe  him.  A  woman  to  be 
literally  bought  and  sold.  Oh,  father,  no,  no  ! 
There  must  be  some  other  way.  Let  me  go  to 
work.  Have  I  not  already  earned  money  by  giving 
lessons  ?  I  will  teach  from  morning  to  night  each 
day  ;  and  every  penny  that  I  gain,  I  will  give 
to  you  to  pay  Bernard  Peixada  with.  I  will  be 
so  industrious  !  I  would  rather  slave  the  flesh 
from  my  bones  —  any  thing,  rather  than  marry 
him.' 

"  '  The  most  you  could  earn,'  my  father  answered, 
'  would  be  no  more  than  a  drop  in  the  bucket, 
Judith.' 

"  '  Well,  then,'  I  went  on,  'there  is  Mr.  Nathan/ 
He  has  money.     Borrow  from  him.     He  will  not 
refuse.     I  know  that  he  would  gladly  give  much 
money  to  save  me  from  a  marriage  with  Bernard 
Peixada.     I  will  ask  him.' 

" '  Judith,  you  must  not  speak  of  this  to  Mr. 
Nathan,'  cried  my  father,  hastily.  '  He  must  not 
know  but  that  your  marriage  to  Mr.  Peixada  is  an 
act  of  your  own  choice.  I — to  tell  you  the  truth — 
I  have  already  borrowed  from  Mr.  Nathan  as  much 
.as  I  dare  to  ask  for.' 

"  To   cut   a   long   story   short,    Mr.  Hetzel,  my 


u 


• '  TO  EXPLA IN  HER  LIFE. "  261 

father  drew  for  me  such  a  dark  picture  of  his  mis 
fortunes,  he  argued  so  plausibly  that  all  depended 
upon  my  marrying  Bernard  Peixada,  he  pleaded  so 
piteously,  that  in  the  end  I  said,  '  Well,  father,  I 
will  do  as  you  wish.' 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  necessary  to  dwell  upon  what 
followed  :  how  my  father  and  mother  embraced  me, 
and  wept  over  me,  and  thanked  me,  and  gave  me 
their  benediction  ;  how  Bernard  Peixada  came  from  ; 
his  lair  across  the  street,  and  kissed  my  hand,  and 
leered  at  me,  and  called  me  '  Judith '  in  that  voice 
of  his  ;  how  then,  for  weeks  afterward,  my  life  was 
one  protracted,  hopeless  horror  ;  how  the  sun  rose 
morning  after  morning,  and  brought  neither  warmth 
nor  light,  but  only  a  reminder  that  the  eighth  of 
August  was  one  day  nearer  still  ;  how  I  could 
speak  of  it  to  no  one,  but  had  to  bear  it  all  alone  in 
silence  ;  how  at  night  my  sleep  was  constantly 
beset  by  nightmares,  in  which  I  got  a  bitter  fore 
taste  of  the  future  ;  how  evening  after  evening  I 
had  to  spend  in  the  parlor  with  Bernard  Peixada, 
listening  to  his  voice,  watching  his  fingers  writhe, 
feeling  the  deadly  light  of  his  eyes  upon  me,  breath 
ing  the  air  that  his  presence  tainted  ;  how  every 
Sunday  I  had  to  receive  people's  congratulations ! 
the  good  wishes  of  all  our  family  friends — I  need 
not  dwell  upon  these  things.  My  life  was  a  long 
heart-ache.  I  had  but  one  relief — hoping  that  I 
might  die.  I  did  not  think  of  putting  an  end  to 
myself  ;  but  I  did  pray  that  God,  in  his  mercy, 
would  let  me  die  before  the  eighth  of  August  came. 


262  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Indeed,  my  health  was  very  much  broken.  Our 
family  doctor  visited  me  twice  a  week.  He  told  my 
father  that  marriage  would  be  bad  for  me.  But  my 
father's  hands  were  tied. 

"  The  people  here  tell  me  that  there  is  a  man 
confined  in  this  prison  under  sentence  to  be  hanged. 
The  day  fixed  for  his  execution  is  the  first  Friday 
of  next  month.  Well,  I  think  that  that  man,  now, 
as  he  looks  forward  to  the  first  Friday  of  Septem 
ber,  may  feel  a  little  as  I  felt  then,  when  I  would 
look  forward  to  the  eighth  of  August — only  he  has 
the  mitigation  of  knowing  that  afterward  he  will  be 
dead,  whereas  I  knew  that  I  should  have  to  live  and 
suffer  worse  things  still.  As  I  saw  that  day  steadily 
creeping  nearer  and  nearer  to  me,  the  horror  that 
bound  my  heart  intensified.  It  was  like  the  old 
Roman  spectacle.  I  had  been  flung  ad  bestias,  I 
stood  still,  defenseless,  beyond  the  reach  of  rescue, 
hopeless  of  escape,  and  watched  the  wild  beast 
draw  closer  and  closer  to  me,  and  all  the  while 
endured  the  agony  of  picturing  to  myself  the  final 
moment,  when  he  would  spring  upon  me  and  suck 
my  blood  :  only,  again  there  was  this  difference — 
the  martyr  in  the  arena  knew  that  after  that  final 
moment,  all  would  be  over  ;  but  I  knew  that  the 
worst  would  then  just  be  begun.  Yet,  at  last — 
toward  the  end — I  actually  fell  to  wishing  that  the 
final  moment  would  arrive.  The  torture,  long 
drawn  out,  of  anticipation  was  so  unbearable  that  I 
actually  wished  the  wild  beast  would  fall  upon  me, 
in  order  that  I  might  enjoy  the  relief  of  change. 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE"  263 

Nothing,  I  felt,  could  be  more  painful  than  this 
waiting,  dreading,  imagining.  The  eighth  of 
August  could  bring  no  terror  that  I  had  not  already 
confronted  in  imagination. 

"  Well,  this  one  wk'.h  of  mine  was  granted.  The 
eighth  of  August  came.  I  was  married  to  Bernard 
Peixada.  I  stood  up  in  our  parlor,  decked  out  in 
bridal  costume,  holding  Bernard  Peixada's  hand  in 
mine,  and  took  the  vows  of  matrimony  in  the  pres 
ence  of  a  hundred  witnesses.  The  canopy  was 
raised  over  our  heads  ;  the  wine  was  drunken  and 
spilled  ;  the  glass  was  broken.  The  chazzan  sang 
his  song  ;  the  rabbi  said  his  say  ;  and  I,  who  had 
gone  through  the  performance  in  a  sort  of  stupor — 
dull,  half  conscious,  bewildered — I  was  suddenly 
brought  to  my  senses  by  a  clamor  of  cheerful 
voices,  as  the  wedding-guests  trooped  up  around  us, 
to  felicitate  the  bridegroom  and  to  kiss  the  bride. 
I  realized— no,  I  did  not  yet  realize — but  I  under 
stood  that  I  was  Bernard  Peixada's  wife — his  wife, 
for  good  and  all,  for  better  or  for  worse  !  I  don't 
remember  that  I  suffered  any  new  pain.  The 
intense  suffering  of  the  last  few  months  had  worn 
out  my  capacities  for  suffering.  My  brain  was 
dazed,  my  heart  deadened. 

"  The  people  came  and  came,  and  talked  and 
talked — I  remember  it  as  I  remember  the  delirium 
I  had  when  I  was  sick  once  with  fever.  And 
after  the  last  person  had  come  and  talked  and  gone 
away,  Bernard  Peixada  offered  me  his  arm,  and 
said,  '  We  must  take  our  places  at  the  wedding 


264  MAS.  PEIXADA. 

feast.'  Then  he  led  me  up-stairs,  where  long  tables 
were  laid  out  for  supper. 

"  A  strange  sense  of  unreality  possessed  me.  In 
a  vague,  dreamy,  far-off  way,  I  saw  the  guests  stand 
up  around  the  tables  ;  saw  the  men  cover  their 
heads  with  hats  or  handkerchiefs  ;  heard  the  voice 
of  Mr.  Nathan  raised  in  prayer  ;  heard  the  com 
pany  join  lustily  in  his  '  Baruch  Adonaij  and  rev 
erently  in  his  final  '  Amen  '/  saw  the  head-gear 
doffed,  the  people  sink  into  their  seats  ;  heard 
the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks  mingle  with  the 
tinkling  of  glasses,  the  bubble  of  pouring  wine,  the 
uproar  of  talk  and  laughter  ;  was  conscious  of 
glaring  lights,  of  moving  forms,  of  the  savor  of 
food,  mixed  with  the  perfume  of  flowers  and  the 
odor  of  cologne  on  the  women's  handkerchiefs  : 
felt  hot,  dazzled,  suffocated,  confused— an  oppres 
sion  upon  my  breast,  a  ringing  in  my  ears,  a  swim 
ming  in  my  head  :  the  world  was  whirling  around 
and  around— I  alone,  in  the  center  of  things,  was 
motionless. 

"  So  on  for  I  knew  not  how  long.  In  the  end  I 
became  aware  that  speeches  were  being  made. 
The  wedding  feast,  that  meant,  was  nearly  over. 
I  did  not  listen  to  the  speeches.  But  they  reminded 
me  of  something  that  1  had  forgotten.  Now, 
indeed,  my  heart  stood  still.  They  reminded  me 
that  the  moment  was  not  far  off  when  Bernard 
Peixada,  when  my  husband,  would  lead  me  away 
with  him  ! 

"The    speeches    were  wound  up.     Mr.  Nathan 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  265 

began  his  last  grace.  My  mother  signaled  me  to 
be  ready  to  come  to  her  as  soon  as  Mr.  Nathan 
should  get  through. 

"  '  Judith,'  she  said,  when  I  had  reached  her  side, 
*  we  had  better  go  up-stairs  now,  and  change  your 
dress.' 

"  We  went  up-stairs.  When  we  came  down 
again,  we  found  Bernard  Peixada  waiting  in  the 
hall.  Through  the  open  door  of  the  parlor,  I  could 
hear  music,  and  see  young  men  and  women  dancing. 
Oh,  how  I  envied  them  !  My  mother  and  father 
kissed  me.  Bernard  Peixada  grasped  my  arm. 
We  left  my  father's  house.  We  crossed  the  street. 
Bernard  Peixada  kept  hold  of  my  arm,  as  if  afraid 
that  I  might  make  a  dash  for  liberty — as,  indeed, 
my  impulse  urged  me  to  do.  With  his  unoccupied 
hand,  Bernard  Peixada  drew  a  key  from  his  pocket, 
and  opened  the  side  door  of  his  own  dark  abode — 
the  door  that  bore  the  brass  plate  with  the  Old 
English  letters. 

"'Well,'  he  said,  'come  in.' 

"  With  a  shudder,  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  that 
mysterious,  sinister  house — of  that  house  which  had 
been  the  terror  of  my  childhood,  and  was  to  be — 
what  ?  In  the  midst  of  my  fear  and  my  bewilder 
ment,  I  could  not  suppress  a  certain  eagerness  to  con 
front  my  fate  and  know  the  worst  at  once — a  certain 
curiosity  to  learn  the  full  ghastliness  of  my  doom.  In 
less  time  than  I  had  bargained  for,  I  had  my  wish." 

Thus  far  Hetzel  had   read    consecutively.     At 


266  MAS.   PEIXADA. 

.this  point  he  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Mrs.  Hart. 

"  Are  you  busy  ? "  she  asked.  "  Because,  if 
you're  not,  I  think  you  had  better  go  up-stairs  and 
sit  with  Arthur.  The  nurse  wants  to  eat  her  break 
fast  and  lie  down  for  a  while.  And  I,  you  know, 
am  expected  by  Ruth." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,"  Hetzel  replied,  with  a  some 
what  abstracted  manner.  "  Oh,  yes — I'll  do  as  you 
wish  at  once.  But  it  is  a  pity  that  you  should  have 
to  go  down-town  alone — especially  in  this  weather." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  that.     Good-by." 

Hetzel  gained  the  sick-room.  The  nurse  said, 
"  You  won't  have  much  to  do,  except  sit  down  and 
keep  quiet." 

Arthur  lay  motionless,  for  all  the  world  as  if 
asleep,  save  that  his  eyes  were  open.  The  room  was 
darkened.  Hetzel  sat  down  near  to  the  window, 
and  returning  to  Ruth's  letter,  read  on  by  the 
light  that  stole  in  through  the  chinks  in  the  blinds. 
The  wind  and  rain  played  a  dreary  accompaniment. 

"  To  detain  you,  Mr.  Hetzel,  with  an  account  of 
my  married  life  would  be  superfluous.  It  was  as 
bad  as  I  had  expected  it  to  be,  and  worse.  It  bore 
that  relation  to  my  anticipations  which  pain  realized 
must  always  bear  to  pain  conjectured.  The  imag 
ination,  in  anticipating  pleasure,  generally  goes 
beyond  the  reality  and  paints  a  too  highly 
colored  picture.  But  in  anticipating  suffering,  it 
does  not  go  half  far  enough.  It  is  not  powerful 
enough  to  foretell  suffering  in  its  complete  intensity. 


•'  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  267 

Sweet  is  never  so  sweet  as  we  imagine  it  will  be; 
bitter  is  always  at  least  a  shade  bitterer  than  we  are 
prepared  for.  Imagination  slurs  over  the  little 
things — and  the  little  things,  trifles  in  themselves, 
are  the  things  that  add  to  the  poignancy  of  suffer 
ing.  Bernard  Peixada  had  a  copy  of  Dante's  Inferno, 
illustrated  by  Dore,  on  his  sitting-room  table.  You 
may  guess  what  my  life  was  like,  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  used  to  turn  the  pages  of  that  book,  and 
literally  envy  the  poor  wretches  portrayed  there 
their  fire  and  brimstone.  The  utmost  refinement 
of  torture  that  Dante  and  Dore  between  them 
could  conceive  and  describe,  seemed  like  child's  play 
when  I  contrasted  it  to  what  I  had  to  put  up  with 
every  day.  Bernard  Peixada  was  cruel  and  coarse 
and  false.  It  did  not  take  him  a  great  while  to 
fathom  the  disgust  that  he  inspired  me  with;  and  then 
he  undertook  to  avenge  his  wounded  self-love.  He 
contrived  mortifications  and  humiliations  for  me 
that  I  can  not  bring  myself  to  name,  that  you  would 
have  difficulty  in  crediting.  Besides,  this  period  of 
my  life  is  not  essential  to  what  I  have  set  myself  to 
make  plain  to  you.  It  was  simply  a  period  of 
mental  and  moral  wretchedness,  and  of  bodily 
decline.  My  health,  which,  I  think  I  have  said, 
had  been  failing  before  the  eighth  of  August,  now 
proceeded  steadily  from  bad  to  worse.  It  was 
aggravated  by  the  daily  trials  I  had  to  endure. 
Of  course  I  strove  to  bear  up  as  bravely  as  I  could. 
I  did  not  wish  Bernard  Peixada  to  have  the  satis 
faction  of  seeing  how  unhappy  he  had  succeeded 


2(58  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

in  making  me.  I  did  not  wish  my  poor  father  and 
mother  to  witness  the  misery  I  had  taken  upon  my 
self  in  obedience  to  their  behests.  I  said,  '  That 
which  is  done  is  done,  and  can  not  be  undone, 
therefore  let  it  not  appear  what  the  ordeal  costs 
you.'  And  in  the  main  I  think  I  was  successful. 
Only  occasionally,  when  I  was  alone,  I  would  give 
myself  the  luxury  of  crying.  I  had  never  realized 
what  a  relief  crying  could  be  till  now.  But  now 
—well,  when  I  would  be  seized  by  a  paroxysm  of 
grief  that  I  could  not  control,  when  amid  tears  and 
sobs  I  would  no  doubt  look  most  pitiable — it  was  then 
that  I  came  nearest  to  being  happy.  I  remember, 
on  one  of  these  occasions — Bernard  Peixada  had 
gone  out  somewhere— I  was  surprised  by  a  sancti 
monious  old  woman,  a  friend  of  his,  if  friendship 
can  subsist  between  such  people,  a  certain  Mrs. 
Washington  Shapiro.  '  My  dear,'  said  she,  '  what 
are  you  crying  for  ? '  I  was  in  a  desperate  mood. 
I  did  not  care  what  I  said;  nay,  more  than  this,  I 
enjoyed  a  certain  forlorn  pleasure  in  speaking  my 
true  mind  for  once,  especially  to  this  friend  of 
Bernard  Peixada's.  '  Oh,'  I  answered,  '  I  am  cry 
ing  because  I  wish  Bernard  Peixada  was  dead  and 
buried.'  I  had  to  smile  through  my  tears  at  the4 
horror-stricken  countenance  Mrs.  Shapiro  now  put 
on.  '  What  !  You  wish  Bernard  Peixada  was  ; 
dead  ? '  she  exclaimed.  *  Shame  upon  you  !  How 
can  you  say  such  a  thing  !  ' —  'He  is  a  monster — 
he  makes  me  unhappy,'  I  responded.  'In  that  case,' 
said  Mrs.  Shapiro,  'you  ought  to  wish  that  you 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  269 

yourself  were  dead,  not  he.  It  is  you  who  are 
monstrous,  for  thinking  and  saying  such  wicked 
things  of  that  good  man/ — '  Oh,'  I  rejoined,  '  I 
am  young.  I  have  much  to  live  for.  He  is  an  old, 
bad  man.  If  he  should  die,  it  would  be  better  for 
every  body.'— This  was,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remem 
ber,  a  month  or  two  before  the  night  of  July  3oth. 
As  I  have  told  you,  it  was  a  piece  of  self-indulgence. 
I  enjoyed  speaking  my  true  sentiments;  I  enjoyed 
horrifying  Mrs.  Shapiro.  But  I  was  duly  punished. 
She  took  pains  to  repeat  what  I  had  said  to  Bernard 
Peixada.  He  did  not  fail  to  administer  an  adequate 
punishment.  Afterward,  when  I  was  tried  for 
murder,  Mrs.  Shapiro  turned  up,  and  retailed  our 
conversation  to  the  jury,  for  the  purpose  of  estab 
lishing  my  evil  disposition. 

"  It  was  in  the  autumn  after  my  marriage  that  my 
father  was  stricken  with  paralysis,  and  died.  It  was 
better  for  him.  If  he  had  lived,  he  could  not  have 
remained  ignorant  of  his  daughter's  'misery;  and 
then  he  would  have  had  to  suffer  the  pangs  of  futile 
self  reproach.  Of  course  he  left  nothing  for  my 
mother.  The  creditors  took  possession  of  every 
thing.  Bernard  Peixada  had  been  false  to  his  bar 
gain.  Instead  of  canceling  my  father's  indebt 
edness  to  him,  as  he  had  promised,  he  had  simply 
sold  his  claims.  Immediately  after  my  father's 
death,  the  creditors  swooped  down  upon  his 
house  and  shop,  and  sold  the  last  stick  of 
furniture  over  my  mother's  head.  Mr.  Nathan 
generously  bought  in  the  things  that  were  most  pre- 


270  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

ttem  T  keep'Sakes  and  fami'y  relics,  and  returned 

way  odmdi  mother;  after  the  vultures  had  *S 

R          ?i    y  e"OUg:h'  the>'  did  not  aPPear  to  blame 
Bernard  Pe.xada-did  not  hold   himaccountab" 
I  hey    centred   to  regard  him   as  a  paragon   of 

S±£?  prhaps  he  contrived  so™  2££ 

ful  I  explana  ,„„,  by  which  they  were  deceived  I 
had  naturally  hoped  that  now  my  mother  would 
come  to  hve  wuh  us.  It  would  have  been  a  great 

ST-T,*  sh,e  had  done  so-  But  B-S 

euada  wished  otherwise.  He  cunningly  per- 
suaded  her  that  she  and  I  had  best  dwell  apart  So 
he  supplied  her  with  enough  money  to  pay  her  ex 


"  Well,  somehow,  that  fall  and  winter  dragged 

^h  t  h,"  PetWng  terriWe  f°r  me  to  look  E 
-that  blackest,  bleakest  winter  of  my  life.     I  cari 

not  understand  how  I  managed  to  Hve  through  it 
°Ut  "as  a  prisoner  in  Bernard 


house.     My  mother  and    Mr.    Nathan 

pTxada     SCe    7   qUUe   freqUent'Jr  ;   but    Be"^ 
mada  was   a  ways   present  during  their  visits; 

and   therefore  I  got  but  little  solace  from  them 

I  he  only  persons  except  my  mother  and  Mr.  Nathan" 

whom   Bernard  Peixada  permitted  me  to  receive' 

were  h,s  own  friends.     And  they  were  one  and  all 

hateful  to  me.    To  my  friends  he  denied  admittance. 

I  was  physically  very  weak.     My  ill  health  made  it 

impossible  for  me  to  forget  myself  in  my  books.   The 

>f  reading  was  too  exhausting.     I  could  not 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE"  271 

sit  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  the  piano, 
either,  without  all  but  fainting  away.  (Mr.  Nathan 
had  given  me  a  piano  for  a  wedding-present.  At  the 
time  I  am  referring  to — when  I  was  unable  to  play 
upon  it — Bernard  Peixada  allowed  me  the  free  use 
of  it.  But  afterward — when  I  had  become  stronger, 
and  began  to  practice  regularly — one  day  I  found  it 
locked.  Bernard  Peixada  stood  near  by,  and 
watched  me  try  to  open  it.  I  looked  at  him,  when 
I  saw  that  I  could  not  open  it,  and  he  looked  at  me. 
Oh,  the  contortion  of  his  features,  the  twisting  of 
his  thin  blue  lips,  the  glitter  of  his  venomous  little 
eyes,  the  loathsome  gurgle  in  his  throat,  as  he 
laughed!  He  laughed  at  my  dismay.  Laughter  ? 
At  least,  I  know  no  other  word  by  which  to  name 
the  hideous  spasm  that  convulsed  his  voice.)  The 
result  was,  I  passed  my  days  moping.  He  objected 
to  my  leaving  the  house,  except  in  his  company.  I 
had  therefore  to  remain  within  doors.  I  used  to  sit 
at  the  window,  and  watch  the  life  below  in  the  street, 
and  look  across  at  our  house — now  occupied  by 
strangers — and  live  over  the  past — my  childhood, 
my  girlhood — always  stopping  at  the  day  and  the 
hour  when  my  father  had  called  me  from  the  read 
ing  of  that  story  of  Hawthorne's,  to  announce  my 
doom  to  me.  But  I  am  wasting  your  time.  All  this 
is  aside  from  the  point.  I  did  survive  that  winter. 
And  when  the  spring  came,  I  began  to  get  better 
in  health,  and  to  become  consequently  more  hope 
ful  in  spirit.  I  said,  *  Why,  you  are  not  yet  twenty- 
one  years  old.  He  is  sixty — and  feeble  at  that. 


27*  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Only  try  hard  to  hold  out  a  little  longer— a  few 
years  at  the  most— and  he  must,  in  the  mere  course 
of  nature,  die.  Then  you  will  not  yet  be  an  old 
woman.  Life  will  still  be  worth  something  to  you. 
/  You  will  have  your  music,  and  you  will  be  rid  of 
him.'  Wicked?  Unwomanly?  Perhaps  so  ;  but 
I  think  it  was  the  way  every  girl  in  my  position 
would  have  felt.  However,  the  consolation  that 
came  from  thoughts  like  this,  was  short-lived.  The 
next  moment  it  would  occur  to  me,  <  He  may  quite 
possibly  live  to  be  ninety  !  '  And  my  heart  would 
sink  at  the  prospect  of  thirty  years-//«>/y  years— 
more  of  life  as  his  wife. 

''In  March,  1879,  Bernard  Peixada  spoke  to  me 
as  follows  :  '  Judith,  you  are  not  going  to  be  a  pawn 
broker's  wife  much  longer.  I  have,  made  arrange 
ments  to  sell  my  business.  I  have  leased  a  house 
up-town.  We  shall  move  on  the  ist  of  May.  After 
that  we  shall  be  a  gentleman  and  lady  of  leisure.' 
"  Surely  enough,  on  the  ist  of  May  we  moved. 
The  house  he  had  leased  was  a  frame  house,  stand 
ing  all  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  block,  between 
Eighty-fifth  and  Eighty-sixth  Streets  and  Ninth  and 
Tenth  Avenues.  It  was  a  large,  substantial,  com 
fortable  house,  dating  from  Knickerbocker  times. 
He  had  caused  it  to  be  furnished  in  a  style  which 
he  meant  to  be  luxurious,  but  which  was,  in  truth, 
the  extreme  of  ugliness.  The  grounds  around  it 
were  laid  out  in  a  garden.  We  went  to  live  there 
punctually  on  the  ist  of  May. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  now  began  to   spend  money 


'  *  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE. "  273 

with  a  lavish  hand.  He  bought  fine  clothes  and 
jewels,  in  which  he  required  me  to  array  myself. 
He  even  went  to  the  length  of  purchasing  a  carriage 
and  a  pair  of  horses.  Then  he  would  make  me  go 
driving  at  his  side  through  Central  Park.  He  kept 
a  coachman.  The  coachman  was  Edward  Bolen. 
(Meanwhile,  I  must  not  forget  to  tell  you,  Bernard 
Peixada  had  quarreled  and  broken  with  my  mother 
and  Mr.  Nathan.  Now  he  allowed  neither  of  them 
to  enter  his  house.  I  was  in  absolute  ignorance 
concerning  them.  Once  I  ventured  to  ask  him  for 
news  of  them.  He  scowled.  He  said,  '  You  must 
never  mention  them  in  my  presence.'  And  he  ac 
companied  this  injunction  with  such  a  look  that  I 
was  careful  to  observe  it  scrupulously  thereafter.  I 
received  no  letters  from  them.  You  may  imagine 
what  an  addition  all  this  was  to  my  burden.) 

"  But  it  is  of  Edward  Bolen  that  I  must  tell  you 
at  present.  He  was  a  repulsive  looking  Irishman. 
It  is  needless  that  I  should  describe  him.  Suffice 
it  that  at  first  I  was  unsuspicious  enough  to  accept 
him  for  what  he  ostensibly  was — Bernard  Peixada's 
coachman— but  that  ere  a  great  while  I  discovered 
that  he  was  something  else,  besides.  I  discovered 
that  he  and  Bernard  Peixada  had  secrets  together.  <i 
At  night,  after  the  household  had  gone  to  bed,  he 
and  Bernard  Peixada  would  meet  in  the  parlor, 
and  hold  long  conversations  in  low  tones.  What 
they  talked  about,  I  did  not  know.  But  this  I  did 
know — it  was  not  about  the  horses.  I  concluded 
that  they  were  mutually  interested  in  some  bad  bus- 


274  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

iness — that  they  were  hatching  some  villainous 
plots  together — but,  I  confess,  I  did  not  much  care 
what  the  business  was,  or  what  the  plots  were. 
Only,  the  fact  that  they  were  upon  this  footing  of 
confidence  with  each  other,  struck  me,  and  abode 
in  my  memory. 

"  One  afternoon,  about  a  fortnight  before  the 
thirtieth  of  July,  Bernard  Peixada  had  taken  me  to 
drive  in  Central  Park.  As  I  was  getting  out  of  the 
carriage,  upon  our  return,  I  tripped  somehow,  and 
fell,  and  sprained  my  ankle.  This  sent  me  to  my 
room.  Dr.  Gunther,  Bernard  Peixada's  physician, 
attended  me.  He  said  I  should  not  be  able  to 
walk,  probably  for  a  month. 

"  More  than  a  week  later,  toward  sunset,  I  was 
lying  there  on  my  bed.  Bernard  Peixada  had  been 
absent  from  the  house  all  day.  Now  I  heard  his 
footfall  below  in  the  corridor — then  on  the  stairs — 
then  in  the  hall  outside  my  door.  I  took  for 
granted  that  he  was  coming  to  speak  with  me.  I 
recoiled  from  the  idea  of  speaking  with  him  just 
then.  So  I.  closed  my  eyes,  and  pretended  to  be 
asleep. 

"  He  came  in.  He  approached  my  bedside.  I 
kept  my  eyes  shut  tight.  '  Judith,'  he  said.  I 
did  not  answer — feigned  not  to  hear.  '  Judith,'  he 
repeated.  Again  I  did  not  answer.  He  placed  his 
hand  upon  my  forehead.  I  tried  not  to  shudder. 
'  I  guess  she's  sound  asleep,'  he  said  ;  '  that's 
good.'  He  moved  off. 

"  His  words,  '  that's  good,'  Mr.  Hetzel,  frightened 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  275 

me.  Why  was  it  4  good  '  that  I  should  be  asleep  ? 
Did  he  intend  to  do  me  a  mischief  while  I  slept  ?  I 
opened  my  eyes  the  least  bit.  I  saw  him  standing 
sidewise  to  me,  a  yard  or  so  away.  He  drew  a 
number  of  papers  from  the  inside  pocket  of  his  • 
coat.  He  ran  them  over.  He  laid  one  of  them 
aside,  and  replaced  the  others  in  his  pocket.  Then 
he  went  to  the  safe — he  kept  a  small  safe  in  our 
bed-chamber — and  opening  the  door — the  door 
remained  unlocked  all  day  ;  his  habit  being  to  lock 
it  at  night  and  unlock  it  in  the  morning — he  thrust 
the  paper  I  have  mentioned  into  one  of  the  pigeon 
holes,  pushed  the  door  to,  and  left  the  room.  I 
had  seen  him  do  all  this  through  half  closed  eyes. 
Doubtless  this  was  why  it  was  *  good  '  for  me  to  be 
asleep — so  that  he  could  do  what  he  had  done, 
unobserved. 

"  I  suppose  I  was  entirely  reprehensible — that 
my  conduct  admitted  of  no  excuse.  However  that 
may  be,  the  fact  is  that  an  impulse  prompted  me  to 
get  up  from  my  bed,  and  to  possess  myself  of  the 
paper  that  he  had  put  into  the  safe.  I  did  not  stop 
to  question  or  to  combat  that  impulse.  No  sooner 
thought,  than  I  jumped  up — and  cried  out  loud  !  I 
had  forgotten  my  sprained  ankle  ! 

For  an  instant  I  stood  still,  faint  with  pain,  terri 
fied  lest  he  might  have  heard  my  scream — lest  he 
might  return,  find  me  on  my  feet,  divine  my  inten 
tion,  and  punish  me  as  he  knew  so  well  how  to  do. 
But  while  I  stood  there,  undetermined  whether  to 
turn  back  or  to  pursue  my  original  idea,  the  terror 


276  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

passed  away.  I  limped  across  the  floor,  pulled  the 
safe  door  open,  put  in  my  hand,  grasped  the  paper, 
drew  it  out,  swung  the  door  back,  regained  my 
bed. 

"  There  I  had  to  lie  still  for  a  little,  and  recover 
my  breath.  I  had  miscalculated  my  strength.  The 
effort  had  exhausted  me.  My  ankle  was  aching 
cruelly — the  pains  shot  far  up  into  my  body.  But 
by  and  by  I  felt  better.  I  unfolded  the  paper, 
smoothed  it  out,  glanced  at  it.  This  was  all  I  had 
earned  by  my  exertions  : — *  R.  iy4. — L.  361 — R. 
222. — L.  30.'  This  was  all  that  was  written  upon 
the  paper.  And  what  this  meant,  how  could  I  tell  ? 
I  made  up  my  mind,  after  much  puzzling,  that  it 
must  be  a  secret  writing — a  cipher  of  one  sort  or 
another.  I  was  not  sorry  that  I  had  purloined  it, 
though  I  was  disappointed  at  its  contents.  I  felt 
sure  that  Bernard  Peixada  could  scarcely  mean  to 
employ  it  for  good  ends.  So  it  was  just  as  well 
that  I  should  have  taken  it  from  him.  I  was  on  the 
point  of  destroying  it,  when  I  decided  not  to.  «  No, 
I  had  best  not  destroy  it,'  I  thought.  '  It  possibly 
may  be  of  value.  I  will  hide  it  where  he  can  not 
find  it.'  I  hid  it  beneath  the  mattress  on  which  I 
lay. 

"  How  absurd  and  unreasonable  my  whole  pro 
ceeding  had  been,  had  it  not  ?  Much  ado  about 
nothing  !  With  no  adequate  motive,  and  at  the  cost 
of  much  suffering  to  myself,  I  had  committed  an 
unnecessary  theft  ;  and  the  fruit  of  it  was  that 
incomprehensible  row  of  figures.  The  whim  of  a  sick 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  277 

woman.  And  yet,  though  I  recognized  this  aspect 
of  the  case  with  perfect  clearness,  I  could  not  find 
it  in  me  to  repent  what  I  had  done. 

"  That  night  Bernard  Peixada  and  Edward  Bolen 
talked  together  till  past  midnight,  in  the  parlor. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  believe  in  pre 
monitions,  in  presentiments,  Mr.  Hetzel.  I  scarcely 
know  whether  I  do,  myself.  But  from  the  moment 
I  woke  up,  on  the  morning  of  July  joth,  I  was 
possessed  by  a  strange,  vague,  yet  irresistible  fore 
boding  that  something  was  going  to  happen — 
something  extraordinary,  something  of  importance. 
At  first  this  was  simply  a  not  altogether  unpleas 
ant  feeling  of  expectancy.  As  the  day  wore  on, 
however,  it  intensified.  It  became  a  fear,  then  a 
dread,  then  a  breathless  terror.  I  could  ascribe  it 
to  no  rational  cause.  I  struggled  with  it — endeav 
ored  to  shake  it  off.  No  use.  It  clutched  at  my 
heart — tightly — more  tightly.  I  sought  to  reassure 
myself,  by  having  recourse  to  a  little  materialism. 
I  said,  '  It  is  because  you  are  not  as  well  as  usual 
to-day.  It  is  the  reaction  of  body  upon  mind.' 
Despite  the  utmost  I  could  say,  the  feeling  grew 
and  grew  upon  me,  till  it  was  well-nigh  insupport 
able.  Yet  I  could  not  force  it  to  take  a  definite 
shape.  Was  it  that  something  had  happened,  or 
was  going  to  happen,  to  my  mother  ?  to  Mr. 
Nathan  ?  to  me  ?  I  could  not  tell — all  I  knew  was 
that  my  heart  ached,  that  at  every  slightest  sound 
it  would  start  into  my  mouth — then  palpitate  so 
madly  that  I  could  scarcely  cafch  my  breath. 


278  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  I  had  not  seen  Bernard  Peixada  at  all  that  day. 
Whether  he  was  in  the  house,  or  absent  from  it,  I 
had  not  inquired.  But  just  before  dinner-time — 
at  about  six  o'clock — he  entered  my  room.  My 
heart  stood  still.  Now,  I  felt,  what  I  had  been 
dreading  since  early  morning,  was  on  the  point  of 
accomplishment.  I  tried  to  nerve  myself  for  the 
worst.  Probably  he  would  announce  some  bad 
news  about  my  mother. — But  I  was  mistaken.  He 
said  only  this  :  '  After  dinner,  Judith,  you  will  call 
the  servants  to  your  room,  and  give  them  leave  of 
absence  for  the  night.  They  need  not  return  till 
to-morrow  morning.  Do  you  understand  ? ' 

"  I  understood  and  yet  I  did  not  understand.  I 
understood  the  bald  fact — that  the  servants 
were  to  have  leave  of  absence  for  the  night — but 
the  significance  of  the  fact  I  did  not  understand. 
I  knew  very  well  that  Bernard  Peixada  had  a  motive 
for  granting  them  this  indulgence,  that  it  was  not 
due  to  a  pure  and  simple  impulse  of  good-nature 
on  his  part  :  but  what  the  motive  was,  I  could  not 
divine.  I  confess,  the  fear  that  had  been  upon  me 
was  augmented.  So  long  as  our  two  honest,  kindly 
Irish  girls  were  in  the  house,  I  enjoyed  a  certain 
sense  of  security.  How  defenseless  should  I  be, 
with  them  away  !  A  thousand  wild  alarms  beset 
my  imagination.  Perhaps  the  presentiment  that 
had  oppressed  me  all  day,  meant  that  Bernard 
Peixada  was  meditating  doing  me  a  bodily  injury. 
Perhaps  this  was  why  he  wished  the  servants  to  be 
absent.  Unreasonable  ?  As  you  please. 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE:*  279 

"  <  Is  this  privilege,'  I  asked,  '  to  be  extended  to 
the  coachman,  also  ? ' 

"  '  Who  told  you  to  concern  yourself  about  the 
coachman  ?  I  will  look  after  him/  was  Bernard 
Peixada's  reply. 

"  I  concluded  that  the  case  stood  thus  : — I  was 
to  be  left  alone  with  Bernard  Peixada  and  Edward 
Bolen.  The  pair  of  them  had  something  to 
accomplish  in  respect  to  me — which — well,  in  the 
fullness  of  time  I  should  learn  the  nature  of  their 
designs.  I  remembered  the  paper  that  I  had  stolen. 
Had  Bernard  Peixada  discovered  that  it  was  miss 
ing,  and  concealed  the  discovery  from  me  ?  Was  he 
now  bent  upon  recovering  the  paper  ?  and  upon 
chastising  me,  as,  from  his  point  of  view,  I  de 
served  to  be  chastised  ?  Again,  in  the  fullness  of 
time  I  should  learn.  I  strove  to  possess  my  soul 
in  patience. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  left  me.  One  of  our  servants 
brought  me  my  dinner.  I  told  her  that  she  might  go 
out  for  the  night,  and  asked  her  to  send  the  other 
girl  to  my  room.  To  this  latter,  also,  I  delivered 
the  message  that  Bernard  Peixada  ,had  charged  me 
with. — When  they  tried  me  for  murder,  Mr.  Hetzel, 
they  produced  both  of  these  girls  as  witnesses 
against  me,  hoping  to  show,  by  their  testimony, 
that  I  had  prearranged  to  be  alone  in  the  house 
with  Bernard  Peixada  and  Edward  Bolen,  so  that  I 
could  take  their  lives  at  my  ease,  with  no  one  by  to 
interfere,  or  to  survive  and  tell  the  story  ! 

"  The  long  July  twilight  faded  out  of  the  sky. 


280  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

Night  fell.  I  was  alone  in  the  house— isolated 
from  the  street— beyond  hope  of  rescue— at  the 
mercy  of  Bernard  Peixada  and  his  coachman, 
Edward  Bolen.  I  lay  still  in  bed,  waiting  for  their 
onslaught. 

"  And  I  waited  and  waited  ;  and  they  made  no 
onslaught.  I  heard  the  clock  strike  eight,  then 
nine,  then  ten,  then  eleven.  No  sign  from  the 
enemy.  Gradually  the  notion  grew  upon  me— I 
could  not  avoid  it— that  I  had  been  absurdly 
deluding  myself— that  my  alarms  had  been  ground 
less.  Gradually  I  became  persuaded  that  my 
premonition  had  been  the  nonsensical  fancy  of  a 
sick  woman.  Gradually  my  anxiety  subsided,  and  I 
fell  asleep. 

"  How  long  I  slept  I  do  not  know.  Suddenly  I 
awoke.  In  fewer  seconds  than  are  required  for 
writing  it,  I  leaped  from  profound  slumber  to  wide 
wakefulness.  My  heart  was  beating  violently  ;  my 
breath  was  coming  in  quick,  short  gasps  ;  my  fore 
head  was  wet  with  perspiration. 

"  I  sat  up  in  bed,  and  looked  around.  My  night- 
lamp  was  burning  on  the  table.  There  was  no 
second  person  in  my  room.  The  hands  of  the 
clock  marked  twenty-five  minutes  before  one. 

"  I  listened.  Stillness  so  deep  that  I  could  hear 
my  heart  beat. 

"  What  could  it  be,  then,  that  had  awakened  me 
so  abruptly  ? 

"  I  continued  to  listen.  Hark  !  Did  I  not  hear 
—yes,  certainly,  I  heard— the  sound  of  voices — of 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE:'  281 

men's  voices — in  the  room  below.  Bernard  Peix- 
ada  and  Edward  Bolen  were  holding  one  of  their 
midnight  sessions.  That  was  all. 

"  That  was  all  :  an  every-night  occurrence. 
And  yet,  for  what  reason  I  can  not  tell,  on  this 
particular  night  that  familiar  occurrence  portended 
much  to  me.  Ordinarily,  I  should  have  lain  abed, 
and  left  them  to  talk  till  their  tongues  were  tired. 
On  this  particular  night — why,  I  did  not  stop  to 
ask  myself — swayed  by  an  impulse  which  I  did  not 
stop  to  analyze — I  got  straightway  out  of  bed,  crept 
to  the  open  window,  and  standing  there  in  the 
chilling  atmosphere,  played  the  eavesdropper  to  the 
best  of  my  powers.  Was  it  woman's  curiosity  ?  In 
that  event,  woman's  curiosity  serves  a  good  end 
now  and  then. 

"  The  room  in  which  they  were  established,  was,  as 
I  have  said,  directly  beneath  my  own.  Their  window 
was  directly  beneath  my  window.  Their  window, 
like  mine,  was  open.  I  heard  each  syllable  that  they 
spoke  as  distinctly  as  I  could  have  heard,  if  they 
had  been  only  a  yard  away.  Each  syllable  steno 
graphed  itself  upon  my  memory.  I  believe  that  I 
can  repeat  their  conversation  word  for  word. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  was  saying  this  :  *  You  know 
the  number.  Here  is  a  plan.  The  house  is  a  nar 
row  one  —only  twelve  feet  wide.  There  is  no  ves 
tibule.  The  street  door  opens  directly  into  a  small 
reception-room.  In  the  center  of  this  reception- 
room  stands  a  table.  You  want  to  look  out  for 
that  table,  and  not  knock  against  it  in  the  dark.' 


282  MRS.  PE1XADA. 


" '  No  fear  of  that,'  replied  Edward  Bolen. 
1 '  Now,  look/  said  Bernard  Peixada  ;  « here  is  the 
door  that  leads  out  of  the  reception-room.  It  is  a 
sliding  door,  always  kept  open.  Over  it  hangs  a 
curtain,  which  you  want  to  lift  up  from  the  bottom  : 
don't  shove  it  aside  :  the  rings  would  rattle  on  the 
rod.  Beyond  this  door  there  is  a  short  passage-way 
—see— here.  And  right  here,  where  my  pencil 
points,  the  stairs  commence.  You  go  up  one  flight, 
and  reach  the  parlors.  There  are  three  parlors  in  a 
line.  From  the  middle  parlor  a  second  staircase 
mounts  to  the  sleeping  rooms.  Now,  be  sure  to 
remember  this  :  the  third  step— I  mark  it  with  a 
cross— the  third  step  creaks.  Understand  ?  It 
creaks.  So,  in  climbing  this  second  flight  of  stairs, 
you  want  to  skip  the  third  step.' 

"  '  Sure,'  was  Edward  Bolen's  rejoinder. 
"  '  Well  and  good.     Now  you  have  finished  with 
the  second  flight  of  stairs.     At  the  head  you  find 
yourself  in  a  short,  narrow  hall.    Three  doors  open 
from    this      hall.       The    front     door     opens    into 
the    spare     bed-room,     now     unoccupied.      The 
middle    door    opens    into    the  bath-room.       The 
last  door  opens  into  the   room  you  want  to  get  at. 
Which  of  these  doors  are  you  to  pass  through  ? ' 
"  '  The  bath-room  door.' 

"'Precisely.  That  is  the  door  which  your  key 
fits— not  the  door  that  leads  straight  into  his  room. 
Well,  now  observe.  Here  is  the  bath-room.  You 
unlock  the  door  from  the  hall  into  the  bath-room, 
and — what  next  ? ' 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  283 

"'I  lock  it  again,  behind  me.' 

"  '  Very  well.     And  then  ? ' 

" '  Then  I  open  the  door  from  the  bath-room 
into  the  room  I'm  after.  That'll  be  unlocked.' 

"  '  Excellent !  That  will  be  unlocked.  He  never 
locks  it.  So,  finally  you  are  in  the  room  you  have 
been  making  for.  Now,  study  this  room  carefully. 
You  see,  the  bed  stands  here  ;  the  bureau,  here  ; 
a  sofa,  here  ;  the  safe,  here.  There  are  several 
chairs.  You  want  to  look  sharp  for  them." 

"  *  I'll  be  sure  to  do  that.' 

"  '  All  right.  But  the  first  thing  will  be  to  look 
after  him.  He'll  probably  wake  up  the  instant  you 
open  the  door  from  the  bath-room.  He's  like  a 
weasel,  for  light  sleeping.  You  can't  breathe,  but 
he'll  wake  up.  He'll  wake  up,  and  most  likely  call 
out,  "Who's  there?  Is  any  one  there?"  or 
something  of  that  sort.  Don't  you  answer.  Don't 
you  use  any  threats.  You  can't  scare  him.  Give 
him  time,  and  he'll  make  an  outcry.  Give  him  a 
chance,  and  he'll  fight.  So,  you  don't  want  to  give 
him  either  time  or  chance.  The  first  thing  you  do, 
you  march  straight  up  to  the  bed,  and  catch  him  by 
the  throat ;  hold  him  down  on  the  pillow,  and  clap 
the  sponge  over  his  face.  Press  the  sponge  hard. 
One  breath  will  finish  his  voice.  Another  breath  will 
finish  him.  Then  you'll  have  things  all  your  own 
Way. — Well,  do  you  know  what  next  ? ' 

"  '  Next,  I'm  to  fasten  the  sponge  tight  where  it 
belongs,  and  pour  on  more  of  the  stuff.' 

"  '  Just  so.     And  next  ? ' 


284  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"'I'm  to  light  the  gas.' 
"  '  Right  again.     And  next  ? ' 
'  Well,  I  suppose  the  job  comes  next— hey  ? ' 
1  Exactly.     You  have  learned  your  lesson  better 
than  I'd  have  given  you  credit  for  doing.     The  job 
comes  next.     Now  you've  got  the  gas  lit,  and  him 
quiet,  it'll  be  plain  sailing.     The  safe  stands  here, 
[t's  a  small  affair,  three,  by  three,  by  two  and  a  half. 
I'll  give  you  the  combination  by  and  by.     I've  got 
it  up  stairs.     But  first,  look  here.     Here's  a  plan  of 
the  inside  of  the  safe.     Here's   an   inside  closet, 
closed  by  an  iron   door.     No  matter  about  that. 
Here's  a  row  of  pigeon-holes,  just  above  it.:  seven 
of  them— see  ?     Now,  the  fifth  pigeon-hole  from  the 
right-hand  side— the  third  from  the  left— the  one 
marked  here  with  red  ink— that's  the  one  that  you're 
interested  in.     All  you'll  have  to  do  will  be  to  stick 
in  your  hand  and  take  out  every  thing  that  pigeon 
hole  contains— every  thing,  understand  ?   Don't  you 
stop  to  examine  them.     J  ust  lay  hold  of  every  thing 
and    come   away.     What    I    want   will   be  in  that 
pigeon-hole  ;  and  if  you  take  every  thing  you  can't 
miss  it.     Then,  as  I  say,  all  you'll  have  left  to  do 
will  be  to  get  out  of  the  house  and  make  tracks  for 
home.' 

"'And  how  about  him?  Shall  I  loosen  the 
sponge  ? ' 

" '  No,  no.  Don't  stop  to  do  that.  He'll  come 
around  all  right  in  time  ;  or,  if  he  shouldn't,  why, 
small  loss  ! ' 

" '  Well,   I  reckon  I   understand  the  job  pretty 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE"  285 

thoroughly  now.  I  suppose  I'd  better  be  start 
ing.' 

"  <  Yes.  Now  wait  here  a  moment.  I'll  go  up 
stairs  and  get  you  the  combination.' 

"  As  rapidly  as,  with  my  sprained  ankle,  I  could, 
I  returned  to  my  bed.  I  had  scarcely  touched  my 
head  to  the  pillow,  when  Bernard  Peixada  crossed 
the  threshold.  I  lay  still,  feigning  sleep.  You  may 
imagine  the  pitch  of  excitement  to  which  the  con 
versation  I  had  intercepted  had  worked  me  up.  But 
as  yet  I  had  not  had  time  to  think  it  over  and  de 
termine  how  to  act.  Crime,  theft,  perhaps  murder 
even,  was  brewing.  I  had  been  forewarned.  What 
could  I  do  to  prevent  it  ?  Unless  I  should  do  some 
thing,  I  should  be  almost  an  accomplice — almost  as 
bad  as  the  conspirators  themselves. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  went  at  once  to  the  safe,  and 
swung  open  the  heavy  door.  I  lay  with  my  back 
toward  him,  and  was  unable,  therefore,  to  watch 
his  movements.  But  I  could  hear  his  hands  busy 
with  rustling  papers.  And  then,  all  at  once,  I  heard 
his  voice,  loud  and  hoarse,  sounding  like  the  infur 
iated  shriek  of  a  madman,  '  I  have  been  robbed — 
robbed  ! ' 

"  Like  a  lightning  flash,  it  broke  upon  me.  I 
knew  what  the  paper  I  had  stolen  was.  I  knew 
what  the  mysterious  figures  it  bore  meant.  I  had 
stolen  the  combination  that  Bernard  Peixada  had 
come  in  quest  of  !  Without  that  combination  their 
scheme  of  midnight  crime  could  not  be  carried 
through  !  It  was  indispensable  to  their  success. 


286  MKS.  PEIXADA. 

And  I  had  stolen  it !  I  thanked  God  for  the  im 
pulse  that  had  prompted  me  to  do  so.  Then  I  lay 
still  and  waited.  My  heart  was  throbbing  so  vio 
lently,  I  was  actually  afraid  that  Bernard  Peixada 
might  hear  it.  I  lay  still  and  waited  and  prayed  as 
I  had  never  prayed  before.  I  prayed  for  strength 
to  win  in  the  battle  which,  I  knew,  would  now 
shortly  have  to  be  fought. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  cried  out,  '  I  have  been  robbed 
—robbed! '  Then  for  a  few  seconds  he  was  silent. 
Then  he  ran  to  the  entrance  of  the  room  and 
shouted,  'Bolen,  Bolen,  come  here.'  And  when 
Edward  Bolen  had  obeyed,  Bernard  Peixada  led 
him  to  the  safe  and  said — ah,  how  his  harsh  voice 
shook  !— said,  '  Look  !  I  have  been  robbed.  The 
combination  is  gone.  I  put  it  in  there  with  my  own 
hands.  It  is  there  no  longer.  It  has  been  stolen. 
Who  stole  it  ?  If  you  did,  by  God,  I'll  have  you 
hanged  !  ' 

"  I  had  slowly  and  noiselessly  turned  over  in  bed. 
Now,  through  half  closed  eyes,  I  could  watch  the 
two  men.  Bernard  Peixada's  body  was  trembling 
from  head  to  foot,  as  if  palsy-stricken.  His  small, 
black  eyes  were  starting  from  their  sockets.  His 
yellow  fangs  shone  hideously  behind  his  parted 
lips.  His  talons  writhed,  writhed,  writhed.  Edward 
Bolen  stood  next  his  master,  as  stolid  as  an  ox. 
Edward  Bolen  appeared  to  be  thinking.  In  a  little 
while  Edward  Bolen  shrugged  his  massive  should 
ers,  lifted  his  arm,  pointed  to  my  bed,  and  spoke 
one  word,  ' Her' 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  287 

"Bernard  Peixada  started.  '  What—  my  wife  ?' 
he  gasped. 

"  «  Ask  her,'  suggested  Edward  Bolen. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  seemed  to  hesitate.  Finally, 
approaching  my  bedside,  *  Judith,'  he  called  through 
chattering  teeth.  . 

"  I  did  not  answer — but  it  was  not  that  I  meant 
still  to  pretend  sleep.  It  was  that  my  courage  had 
deserted  me.  I  had  no  voice.  I  clenched  my  fists 
and  made  my  utmost  effort  to  command  myself. 

" '  Judith,'  Bernard  Peixada  called  a  second 
time. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  gathered  strength  to  respond. 

" '  Judith,'  Bernard  Peixada  went  on,  still  all 
a-tremble,  '  have  you — have  you  taken  any  papers 
out  of  my  safe  ? ' 

"  What  use  could  lying  serve  at  this  crisis  ?  There 
was  sufficient  evil  in  action  now,  without  my  adding 
an  ineffectual  lie  to  it.  I  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
answered,  *  Yes — I  have  taken  the  paper  you  are 
looking  for.' 

"  Bernard  Peixada  had  manifestly  not  expected 
such  an  answer.  It  took  him  aback.  He  stood, 
silent  and  motionless,  glaring  at  me  in  astonish 
ment.  His  mouth  gaped  open,  and  the  lamplight 
played  with  his  teeth. 

"  Edward  Bolen  muttered,  '  Eh  !  what  did  I  tell 
you  ? ' 

"  But  Bernard  Peixada  stood  motionless  and 
silent  only  for  a  breathing-space.  Suddenly  flames 
leaped  to  his  eyes,  color  to  his  cheek.  I  shall  not 


288 


MRS.  PEIXADA. 


transcribe  the  volley  of  epithets  that  I  had  now  to 
sustain   from    his    foul    mouth.     His   frame   was 
rigid  with  wrath.     His  voice  mounted   from  shrill 
to  shriller.     He  spent  himself  in  a  tirade  of  words. 
Then  he  sank  into  a  chair,   unable  to  keep  his  feet 
from  sheer  exhaustion.     The  veins  across  his  fore 
head  stood  out  like  great,  bloated  leeches.     His 
long,  black  finger-nails  kept  tearing  the  air. 
"  Edward  Bolen  waited. 
"  So  did  I. 

"  But  eventually  Bernard  Peixada  recovered  his 
forces.  Springing  to  his  feet,  looking  hard  at  me, 
and  pronouncing  each  word  with  an  evident  attempt 
to  control  his  fury,  he  said,  <  We  have  no  time  to 
waste  upon  you  just  now,  madam.  Bolen,  here,  has 
business  to  transact  which  he  must  needs  be  about. 
Afterward  I  shall  endeavor  to  have  an  understand 
ing  with  you.  At  present  we  will  dispose  of  the 
matter  of  prime  importance.  You  don't  deny  that 
you  have  stolen  a  certain  paper  from  my  safe.  I 
wish  you  at  once,  without  an  instant's  delay  or 
hesitation,  to  tell-us  what  you  have  done  with  that 
paper.  Where  have  you  put  it  ? ' 

"  I  tried  to  be  as  calm  as  he  was.     « I  will  not 
tell  you,'   I  replied. 

"  A  smile  that  was  ominous  contracted  his  lips. 
'  Oh,  yes,  you  will,'   he  said,   mockingly,   '  and  the 
sooner  you  do  so,  the  better— for  you.' 
"  '  I  have  said,  I  will  not,'  I  repeated. 
"  The  same  ominous,  sarcastic  smile  :    but  sud 
denly  it  faded  out,  and  was  replaced  by  an  expres- 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  289 

sion  of  alarm.  '  You — you  have  not  destroyed  it  ?' 
he  asked,  abruptly. 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  had  suggested  a  means 
for  terminating  the  situation.  This  time,  without 
a  qualm,  I  lied.  'Yes,  I  have  destroyed  it.' 

" '  Good  God  ! '  he  cried,  and  stood  still,  aghast. 

"  Edward  Bolen  stepped  forward.  He  tugged 
at  Bernard  Peixada's  elbow.  He  pointed  toward 
me.  '  Don't  you  see,  she's  lying  ? '  he  demanded 
roughly. 

Bernard  Peixada  started.  The  baleful  light  of 
his  black  eyes  pierced  to  the  very  marrow  of  my 
consciousness.  He  searched  me  through  and 
through.  '  Ah  !  '  he  cried,  with  a  great  sigh  of 
relief,  *  to  be  sure,  she's  lying.'  His  yellow  teeth 
gnawed  at  his  under  lip  :  a  symptom  of  busy  think 
ing.  Finally  he  said,  <  You  have  not  destroyed  it. 
I  advise  you  to  tell  us  where  it  is.  I  advise  you  to 
lose  no  time.  Where  is  it  ? ' 

" '  I  will  not  tell  you,'  I  answered. 

" '  I  give  you  one  more  chance,'  he  said  ;  *  where 
is  it  ?  ' 

"  '  I  will  not  tell  you.' 

"  t  Very  well.  Then  we  shall  be  constrained — ' 
He  broke  off,  and  whispered  a  few  sentences  into 
Edward  Bolen 's  ear. 

"  Edward  Bolen  nodded,  and  left  the  room. 
Bernard  Peixada  glared  at  me.  I  lay  still,  wonder 
ing  what  the  next  act  was  to  be,  fortifying  myself  to 
endure  and  survive  the  worst. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  said,  '  You  are  going  to  cause 


2  9°  MAS.  PEIXADA. 

yourself  needless  pain.  You  may  as  well  speak 
now  as  afterward.  You'll  be  as  docile  as  a  lamb, 
in  a  minute  or  two.' 

"  I  held  my  tongue.  Presently  Edward  Bolen 
returned.  He  handed  something  to  Bernard  Peix- 
ada.  Bernard  Peixada  turned  to  me.  <  Which  one 
of  your  ankles,'  he  inquired,  '  is  it  that  you  are 
having  trouble  with  ? ' 

"  I  did  not  speak. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  Oh, 
very  well,'  he  sneered  ;  « it  won't  take  long  to  find 
out.'  With  that,  he  seized  hold  of  the  bed-clothes 
that  covered  me,  and  with  a  single  motion  of  his 
arm  tossed  them  upon  the  floor. 

"  I  started  up — attempted  to  spring  from  off  the 
bed.  He  placed  his  hands  upon  my  shoulders,  and 
pushed  me  back,  prostrate.  I  struggled  with  him. 
He  summoned  Edward  Bolen  to  re-enforce  him. 
Edward  Bolen  was  a  strong  man.  Edward  Bolen 
had  no  difficulty  in  holding  me  down,  flat  upon  the 
mattress.  I  watched  Bernard  Peixada. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  took  the  thing  that  I  had  seen 
Edward  Bolen  give  him — it  was  a  piece  of  thick 
twine,  perhaps  twelve  inches  in  length,  and  attached 
at  each  end  to  a  transverse  wooden  handle — he 
took  it,  and  wound  it  about  my  ankle — the  ankle 
that  was  sprained.  Then,  by  means  of  the  two 
wooden  handles,  he  began  to  twist  it  around  and 
around — and  at  every  revolution,  the  twine  cut 
deeper  and  deeper  into  my  flesh— and  at  last  the 
pain  became  more  horrible  than  I  could  bear — oh, 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  291 

such  pain,  such  fearful  pain  ! — and  1  cried  out  for 
quarter. 

" '  I  will  tell  you  any  thing  you  wish  to  know,'  I 
said. 

"  '  As  I  anticipated,'  was  Bernard  Peixada's  com 
ment.  *  Well,  where  shall  we  find  the  paper  that 
you  stole  ? ' 

" '  Loosen  that  cord,  and  I  will  tell  you — I  will 
give  it  to  you,'  I  said. 

"  '  No,'  he  returned.  *  Give  it  to  me,  or  tell  me 
where  it  is,  and  then  I  will  loosen  the  cord.' 

"  '  It  is  not  here — it — it  is  down-stairs,'  I  replied, 
inspired  by  a  sudden  hope.  If  I  could  only  get 
down-stairs,  I  thought,  I  might  contrive  to  reach 
the  door  that  let  out  of  the  house.  Then,  lame 
though  I  was,  and  weak  and  sick,  I  might,  by  a 
supreme  effort,  elude  my  persecutors — attain  the 
street — summon  help — and  thus,  not  only  escape 
myself,  but  defeat  the  criminal  enterprise  that  they 
were  bent  upon.  It  was  a  crazy  notion.  At 
another  moment  I  should  have  scouted  it.  But  at 
that  moment  it  struck  me  as  wholly  rational — as,  at 
any  rate,  well  worth  venturing.  I  did  not  give 
myself  time  to  consider  it  very  carefully.  It  made 
haste  from  my  mind  to  my  lips.  '  The  paper,'  I 
said,  *  is  down-stairs.' 

"  *  Down-stairs  ? '  queried  Bernard  Peixada, 
tightening  the  cord  a  little  ;  '  where  down-stairs  ? ' 

"  '  In — in  the  parlor — in  the  book-case — shut  up 
in  a  book,'  I  answered. 

"  <  In  what  book  ? ' 


292  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

"  '  I  can  not  tell  you.  But  I  could  put  my  hand 
upon  it,  if  I  were  there.  After  I  took  it  from  the 
safe — you  were  absent  from  the  house — I — oh,  for 
mercy's  sake,  don't,  don't  tighten  that— I  crawled 

down-stairs — ah,  that  is  better  ;  loosen  it  a  little 

I  crawled  down  to  the  parlor — and — and  shut  it  up 
in  a  book.  I  don't  remember  what  book.  But  I 
could  find  it  for  you  if  I  were  there.'  In  the  last 
quarter  hour,  Mr.  Hetzel,  I,  who  had  recoiled  from 
lying  at  the  outset,  had  become  somewhat  of  an 
adept  at  that  art,  as  you  perceive. 

"  Bernard  Peixada  exchanged  a  glance  with 
Edward  Bolen  ;  then  said  to  me,  '  All  right.  Come 
down-stairs  with  us.' 

"  He  removed  the  instrument  of  torture.  A 
wave  of  pain  more  sickening  than  any  I  had  yet 
endured,  swept  through  my  body,  as  the  ligature 
was  relaxed,  and  the  blood  flowed  throbbing  back 
into  my  disabled  foot.  I  got  up  and  hobbled  as 
best  I  could  across  the  floor,  out  through  the  hall, 
down  the  stairs.  Edward  Bolen  preceded  me. 
Bernard  Peixada  followed. 

"At  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  I  had  to  halt  and 
lean  against  the  bannister  for  support.  I  was  weak 
and  faint. 

"  *  Go  light  the  gas  in  the  parlor,  Bolen,'  said 
Bernard  Peixada. 

"  Bolen  went  off.  Now,  I  thought,  my  oppor 
tunity  had  come.  The  hall-door,  the  door  that 
opened  upon  the  grounds,  was  in  a  straight  line, 
not  more  than  twenty  feet  distant  from  me.  I 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  293 

looked  at  Bernard  Peixada.  He  was  standing  a 
yard  or  so  to  my  right,  in  manifest  unconcern.  I 
drew  one  deep  breath,  mustered  my  utmost  courage, 
prayed  to  God  for  strength,  made  a  dash  forward, 
reached  the  door,  despite  my  lameness,  and  had  my 
hand  upon  the  knob,  before  Bernard  Peixada 
appeared  to  realize  what  had  occurred.  But  then 
— when  he  did  realize — then  in  two  bounds  he 
attained  my  side.  The  next  thing  I  knew,  he  had 
grasped  my  arm  with  one  hand,  and  had  twined 
the  ringers  of  the  other  hand  around  my  throat.  I 
could  feel  the  sharp  nails  cutting  into  my  flesh. 

"  *  Ah  ! '  he  cried — a  loud,  piercing  cry,  half  of 
surprise,  half  of  triumph.  <  Ah  !  '  And  then  he 
swore  a  brutal  oath. 

"  At  his  touch,  Mr.  Hetzel,  I  ceased  to  be  a 
woman  ;  I  became  a  wild  beast.  It  was  like  a  wild 
beast,  that  I  now  fought.  Insensible  to  pain,  aware 
only  of  a  fury  that  was  no  longer  controllable  in  my 
breast,  I  fought  there  with  Bernard  Peixada  in  battle 
royal.  Needless  to  detail  our  maneuvers.  I  fought 
with  him  to  such  good  purpose  that  ere  a  great 
while  he  had  to  plead  for  quarter,  as  I  had  had  to 
plead  up-stairs  a  few  moments  ago.  Quarter  I  gave 
him.  I  flung  him  away  from  me.  He  tottered  and 
fell  upon  the  floor. 

"  Now  I  looked  around.  This  was  how  things 
stood  :  Bernard  Peixada  lay — half  lay,  half  sat — 
upon  the  floor,  preparing  to  get  up.  Edward 
Bolen,  his  dull  countenance  a  picture  of  amazement 
and  stupefaction,  was  advancing  toward  us  from  the 


294  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

lower  end  of  the  hall.  And—and— on  a  chair- 
directly  in  front  of  me— not  two  feet  away- 
together  with  a  hat,  a  pair  of  overshoes,  a  bunch  of 
keys,  a  lantern— I  descried  my  deliverance— a 
pistol ! 

"Quick  as  thought,  I  sprang  forward.  Next 
moment  the  pistol  was  mine. 

"Again  I  looked  around.  The  situation  was 
still  much  the  same.  Clasping  the  butt  of  the  pistol 
firmly  in  my  hand,  and  gathering  what  assurance  I 
could  from  the  feeling  of  it,  I  set  out  once  more  to 
open  the  door  and  gain  the  outside  of  the  house. 

"I  thought  I  was  victress  now— indisputably 
victress.  But  it  transpired  that  I  had  my  claims 
yet  to  assert.  I  slid  back  the  bolts  of  the  door, 
unhindered,  it  is  true  ;  but  before  I  had  managed 
to  turn  the  knob  and  pull  the  door  open,  Edward 
Bolen  and  Bernard  Peixada  sprang  upon  me. 

"  There  was  a  struggle.  How  long  it  lasted,  I 
do  not  know.  I  heard  the  pistol  go  off— a  sharp, 
crashing,  deafening  report— once,  twice  :  who 
pulled  the  trigger,  I  scarcely  knew.  Who  was 
wounded,  I  did  not  know.  All  was  confusion  and 
pain  and  noise,  blood  and  fire  and  smoke,  horror 
and  sickness  and  bewilderment.  I  saw  nothing- 
knew  nothing— understood  nothing.  I  was  beside 
myself.  It  was  a  delirium.  I  was  helpless— irre 
sponsible. 

"  In  the  end,  somehow,  I    got  that  door  open. 

Through  it  all,  that  idea  had  clung  in  my  mind to 

get  the  door  open,  somehow,  at  any  cost.     Well,  I 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  295 

got  it  open.  I  felt  the  fresh  air  upon  my  cheek, 
the  perfume  of  the  garden  in  my  nostrils.  The 
breeze  swept  in,  and  cut  a  path  through  the  smoke, 
and  made  the  gas  jets  flicker.  Then  I  saw— I  saw 
that  I  was  free.  I  saw  that  my  persecutors  were  no 
longer  to  be  feared.  I  saw  Edward  Bolen  and 
Bernard  Peixada  lying  prone  and  bleeding  upon 
the  marble  pavement  at  my  feet. 

"  I  have  explained  to  you,  Mr.  Hetzel,  the  cir- 
stances  of  Bernard  Peixada's  death.  It  is  not  nec 
essary  for  me  to  dwell  upon  its  consequences.  At 
least,  I  need  merely  outline  them.  I  need  merely 
tell  you  that  in  due  order  I  was  taken  prisoner, 
tried  for  Bernard  Peixada's  murder,  and  acquitted. 
I  was  taken  prisoner  that  very  night.  Next  morn 
ing  they  brought  me  here — to  the  same  prison  that 
I  am  again  confined  in  now.  Here  I  was  visited  by 
Mr.  Nathan.  I  had  sent  for  him,  addressing  him  in 
care  of  the  sexton  of  our  synagogue  ;  and  he  came. 
I  told  him  what  I  have  told  you.  He  said  I  must 
have  a  lawyer — that  he  would  engage  a  lawyer  for 
me.  He  engaged  two  lawyers — Mr.  Short  and  Mr. 
Sondheim.  I  repeated  my  story  to  them.  They 
listened.  When  I  had  done,  they  laughed.  I 
asked  them  why  they  laughed.  They  replied  that, 
though  my  story  was  unquestionably  true,  no  jury 
would  believe  it.  They  said  the  lawyer  for  the  \\^ 
prosecution  would  mix  me  upon  cross-examination,, 
and  turn  my  defense  to  ridicule.  They  said  I 
should  have  to  plead  lunacy.  I  need  not  detain 


296  MRS.  PE1XADA. 

you  with  a  rehearsal  of  the  dispute  I  had  with 
Messrs.  Short  and  Sondheim.     Eventually— in  def 
erence  chiefly  to  the  urging  of  Mr.  Nathan— I  con 
sented  to  let  them  take  their  own  course.     So  I 
was  led  to  court,    and    tried,    and    acquitted.     It 
would  be  useless  for  me  to  go  over  my  trial  again 
now  in  this  letter.     I  shall  say  enough  when  I  say 
that  it  was  conducted  in  the  same  room  that  I  had 
to  plead    in   this    morning— that     the    room    was 
crowded— that  I  had  to  sit  there  all  day  long,  for 
two  mortal  days,  and  listen  to  the  lawyers,  and  the 
witnesses,  and  the  judge,  and  support  the  gaze  of 
a  multitude  of  people.     If  it  had  not  been  for  Mr. 
Nathan,  I   don't    know  how   I  should   have  lived 
through  the  ordeal.     But  he  sat  by  me  from  begin 
ning  to  end,  and  held  my  hand,  and  inspired  me 
with  strength  and  hope.     My  mother,  meantime,  I 
had  not  seen.     Mr.  Nathan  said  she  was  away  from 
the  city,  visiting  with  friends,  whom  he  named  ;  and 
added  that  it  would  be  kinder  not  to  let  her  know 
what  was  going  on.     After  my  release,  Mr.  Nathan 
confessed  that,  thinking  I   had   already  enough  to 
bear,  he  had  deceived   me.     My  mother  had  been 
sick  ;  while  my  trial  was  in  progress,  she  had  died. 
"  Well,  at   last  the  trial  was  over,  and  the  jury^ 
had  declared  me  not  guilty,  and   the  prison  people 
let  me  go.     Mr.  Nathan  and  I  went  together  to  an 
apartment  he  had    rented    in    Sixty-third    Street. 
Thither  came  Messrs.    Short   and  Sondheim,  and 
made  me  sign  numberless    papers— the  nature  of 
which  I  did  not   inquire  into — and  after  a  while  I 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  297 

understood  that  I  had  inherited  a  great  deal  of 
money  from  Bernard  Peixada — more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  This  money  I  asked  Mr.  Nathan 
to  dispose  of,  so  that  it  might  do  some  good.  He 
invested  it,  and  made  arrangements  to  have  the 
income  divided  between  a  hospital,  an  orphan  asy 
lum,  a  home  for  working  women,  an  industrial 
school,  and  a  society  for  the  protection  of  children 
who  are  treated  cruelly  by  their  parents.  (I  have 
just  now  received  a  paper  with  a  red  seal  on  it, 
from  which  I  learn  that  Bernard  Peixada  left  a  will, 
and  that  the  money  I  have  spoken  of  will  have  to 
be  paid  over  to  his  brother.) 

"  That  winter— the  winter  of  1879-80 — Mr.  Na 
than  and  I  spent  alone  together.  For  the  first  time 
since  the  day  on  which  my  father  had  told  me  I 
must  marry  Bernard  Peixada,  for  the  first  time,  I 
began  to  have  a  feeling  of  peace,  and  repose,  and 
security.  Mr.  Nathan  was  so  good  to  me — oh, 
such  a  good,  kind,  tender  friend,  Mr.  Hetzel— that 
I  became  almost  happy.  It  was  almost  a  happiness 
just  to  spend  my  time  near  to  Mr.  Nathan — he  was 
so  gentle,  so  strong  ;  he  made  me  feel  so  safe,  so 
far  away  from  the  storm  and  the  darkness  of  the 
past.  Was  I  not  tormented  by  remorse  ?  Did  I  not 
repent  having  taken  two  human  lives  ?  Not  for 
one  instant.  I  held  myself  wholly  irresponsible.  If 
Bernard  Peixada  and  Edward  Bolen  had  died  by 
my  hand,  it  was  their  own  fault,  their  own  doing. 
No,  I  did  not  suffer  the  faintest  pang  of  remorse. 
Only,  now  and  then  I  would  remember — now  and 


298  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

then  the  night  of  July  3oth  would  re-enact  itself  in 
my  memory — and  then  I  would  shudder  and  grow 
sick  at  heart  ;  but  that  was  not  remorse.  It  was 
disgust  and  horror.  Of  course  I  do  not  mean  that 
I  was  happy  in  a  positive  sense,  this  winter.  Real 
happiness  I  never  knew  until  I  met  Arthur.  But  1 
was  less  unhappy  than  I  had  been  for  a  long,  long 
while. 

"  But  in  the  early  spring  Mr.  Nathan  died.  The 
last  person  I  had  left  to  care  for,  the  last  person 
who  cared  for  me,  the  man  who  had  stood  as  a 
rock  of  strength  for  me  to  lean  upon,  to  whom  I 
had  perhaps  been  too  much  of  a  burden,  but  whom 
I  had  loved  as  a  woman  in  my  relation  to  him  must 
needs  have  loved  him — this  man  died.  I  was  abso 
lutely  alone  in  the  world.  That  was  a  dreary, 
desolate  spring. 

"  Soon  after  his  death,  I  received  a  paper  some 
thing  like  this  paper  with  the  red  seal  that  I  have 
received  to-day.  I  found  that  he  had  made  a  will  and 
left  me  all  his  money.  My  doctor  said  I  needed 
a  change.  I  went  to  Europe.  I  traveled  alone  in 
Europe  for  some  months,  trying  to  forget  myself 
in  sight-seeing — in  constant  motion.  At  last  I  set 
tled  down  in  Vienna,  and  devoted  myself  to  study 
ing  music.  I  staid  about  a  year  in  Vienna.  Then  a 
spirit  of  restlessness  seized  upon  me.  I  left  Vienna 
and  went  to  London. 

"  In  London  I  met  Mrs.  Hart.  We  became 
friends  at  once.  She  was  about  to  make  a  short 
trip  on  the  Continent,  before  returning  to  America. 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE"  299 

She  asked  me  to  accompany  her.  I  said  I  would 
go  to  the  Continent  with  her,  but  that  I  could  not 
return  to  America.  She  wanted  to  know  why.  I 
answered  by  telling  her  a  little  something  of  my 
recent  history.  I  said,  <  In  America  I  am  Judith 

Peixada the    notorious    woman    who    killed    her 

husband.     Here  I  am  unknown.    So  I  will  remain 
here.'     She   asked,    'How    old    are   you?'  I  said, 
'  Twenty-three,  nearing  twenty-four.'  She  said,  'You 
are  a  child.  You  have  a  long  life  before  you.  You  are 
wasting  it,   moping  about  in  this  aimless  way  here  in 
Europe.  Come  home  with  me.     Nobody  shall  recog 
nize  you  for  Judith  Peixada.     I  will  give  you  a  new 
name.  You  shall  be  Ruth  Lehmyl.  Ruth  Lehmyl  was 
the  name  of  my  daughter  who  is  dead.     You  may 
guess  how   dearly  I  love  you,   when  I  ask  you  to 
take  my  daughter's  name.     Come  home  and  live 
with  me,  Ruth,  and  make  me  happy.'— As  you  know, 
I  was  prevailed  upon.     After  a  month  or  two  spent 
at  Aix-les-Bains,   we  came  back  to  America.     We 
dwelt  for  a  while   in   an  apartment  on  Fifty-ninth 
Street.     Last  April  we  moved  into  Beekman  Place. 
"  This  brings  me  to  the  second  point.     Why,  with 
that  dark   stain  upon    my  past— why,  being  Judith 
Peixada,  for  all  my  change  of  name— why  did  I 
consent  to  become     Arthur    Ripley's  wife?     Oh,. 
Mr.  Hetzel,  it   was   because  I  loved  him.     I  was  a 
woman,  and  I   loved   him,  and   I  was  weak.     He 
said  that  he  loved  me,  that  it  would  break  his  heart 
if  I  should  refuse  him  ;  and  I  could   not  help  it. 
I  tried  hard.     I  tried  to  act  against  my  heart.     I 


3°°  MAS.  PEIXADA.        . 

told  him  that  my  life  had  not  been  what  he  might 
wish  it  to  be.  I  begged  him  to  go  away.  But  he 
said  that  he  cared  nothing  for  the  past,  and  he 
urged  me  and  pleaded  with  me,  and  I— I  loved 
him  so— the  temptation  was  so  strong— it  was  as  if 
he  had  opened  the  gates  of  heaven  and  invited  me 
to  enter— I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  great  joy— of 
the  great  sorrow,  too,  of  the  sorrow  that  would 
follow  to  him  and  to  me  if  I  sent  him  away— and 
my  strength  was  insufficient— and  we  were  mar 
ried. 

"I  am  very  tired,  Mr.  Hetzel.  I  have  been 
writing  for  so  long  a  time  that  my  fingers  are 
cramped,  and  my  back  aches  from  bending  over,  and 
my  body  has  become  chilled  through  by  sitting  still  in 
this  damp  place,  and  my  head  is  thick  and  heavy. 
Yet  I  have  some  things  still  left  to  say.  You  must 
pardon  me  if  I  am  stupid  and  roundabout  in  com 
ing  to  the  point.  And  if  I  do  not  succeed  in 
making  what  I  have  on  my  mind  very  clear  to 
you,  you  must  excuse  me  on  the  ground  that  I  am 
quite  worn  out. 

"  As  I  have  said,  I  was  frank  with  Arthur  Rip- 
ley.  I  warned  him  that  my  past  life  had  been 
darkened  by  sin.  I  said,  « If  you  knew  about  it, 
you  would  not  care  to  marry  me.'  He  retorted,' 
'  The  past  is  dead.  You  and  I  have  just  been 
born.'  It  did  indeed  seem  so  to  me— as  though  I 
had  just  been  born.  I  allowed  myself  to  be  per 
suaded.  We  were  married.  But  then,  Mr.  Hetzel, 
as  soon  as  I  had  yielded,  I  said  to  Arthur,  '  It  is 


"  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE"  301 

not  right  that  I,  your  betrothed,  should  keep  a 
secret  from  you.  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story/ 
I  said  this  to  him  on  more  than  one  occasion  before 
we  were  married.  And  I  repeated  it  again  and 
again  afterward.  But  every  time  that  I  broached 
the  subject,  he  put  it  aside.  He  answered,  '  No. 
Keep  your  secret  as  a  reminder  of  my  unwavering 
confidence  and  perfect  love.'  I  supposed  that  he 
was  sincere.  I  marveled  at  his  generosity,  and 
loved  him  all  the  better,  because  of  it.  Yet  what 
was  the  truth  ?  The  truth  was  that  in  his  inmost 
heart  he  could  not  help  wishing  to  know  what  his 
wife's  secret  was.  But  he  played  the  hypocrite.  He 
forbade  me  to  tell  it  to  him — forbade  me  to  unseal  my 
lipS_and  so  got  the  credit  for  great  magnanimity. 
Then,  behind  my  back,  he  associated  with  Benjamin 
Peixada,  and  learned  from  his  lips— not  my  secret 
—no,  but  the  false,  distorted  version  of  it,  which 
Bernard  Peixada's  brother  would  delight  to  give. 
What  Benjamin  Peixada  told  him,  he  believed  ;  and 
it  was  worse  than  he  had  bargained  for.  When  he 
understood  that  his  wife  had  committed  murder, 
that  his  wife  had  stood,  a  common  criminal,  at  the 
bar  of  the  court  of  General  Sessions,  lo  !  all  the 
love  that  he  had  boasted,  died  an  instant  death. 
And  then — this  is  what  is  most  infamous — then  he 
contrived  a  cruel  method  of  letting  me  know  that  he 
knew.  Instead  of  coming  to  me,  and  telling  me  in 
a  straightforward  way,  he  put  that  advertisement 
into  the  paper.  That,  I  do  think,  was  infamous. 
And  all  the  time,  he  was  pretending  that  he  loved 


302  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

me,  and  I  was  believing  him,  and  treating  him  as  a 
wife  treats  her  husband.  I  read  that  advertisement, 
and  was  completely  deceived  by  it.  I  went  to 
Benjamin  Peixada's  place.  '  What  do  you  wish 
with  me  ? '  I  asked.  He  answered,  *  Wait  a  little 
while,  and  the  gentleman  who  wrote  that  advertise 
ment  will  come  and  explain  to  you.  Wait  a  little 
while,  and  I  promise  you  a  considerable  surprise.' 
I  waited.  The  gentleman  came.  The  gentleman 
was  Arthur.  Not  content  with  having  decoyed 
me  to  that  place  in  that  way,  he — he  called  me 
by  that  name — he  called  me  Mrs.  Peixada  !  The 
surprise  was  considerable,  I  confess.  And  yet, 
you  and  Mrs.  Hart  wonder  that  I  am  indignant. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  understand  that  Arthur  had 
no  share  in  causing  my  arrest.  I  understand  that 
all  he  intended  was  to  confront  me  there  in  Ben 
jamin  Peixada's  office,  and  inform  me  that  he  knew 
who  I  was,  and  denounce  me,  and  repudiate  me. 
But  Benjamin  Peixada  had  a  little  plan  of  his  own 
to  carry  through.  When  Arthur  saw  what  it  was — 
when  he  saw  that  Benjamin  Peixada  had  set  a  trap 
for  me,  and  that  I  was  to  be  taken  away  to  prison — 
then  he  was  shocked  and  pained,  and  felt  sorry  for 
what  he  had  helped  to  do.  You  don't  need  to 
explain  that  to  me.  That  is  not  why  I  feel  the 
deep  resentment  toward  him  which,  I  admit,  I  do 
feel.  The  bare  fact  that  he  pried  into  my  secrets 
behind  my  back,  and  went  on  pretending  to  love 
me  at  the  same  time,  shows  me  that  he  never  truly 
loved  me.  You  speak  of  my  seeing  him.  It  would  be 


•«  TO  EXPLAIN  HER  LIFE."  3°3 

useless  for  me  to  see  him.  He  could  not  undo 
what  he  has  done.  All  the  explanations  and 
excuses  that  he  could  make,  would  not  alter  the 
fact  that  he  went  to  work  without  my  knowledge, 
and  found  out  what  I  had  again  and  again  volun 
teered  to  tell  him.  If  he  surfers  from  supposing 
that  I  think  he  had  a  share  in  causing  my 
imprisonment,  you  may  tell  him  that  I  think  no 
such  thing.  Tell  him  that  I  understand  perfectly 
every  thing  that  he  could  say.  Tell  him  that  a 
meeting  between  us  would  only  be  productive  of 
fresh  pain  for  each. 

"  Mr.  Hetzel,  if  you  were  a  woman,  and  if  you 
had  ever  gone  through  the  agony  of  a  public  trial 
for  murder  in  a  crowded  court-room,  and  if  all  at 
once  you  beheld  before  you  the  prospect  of  going 
through  that  agony  for  a  second  time,  I  am  sure 
you  would  grasp  eagerly  at  any  means  within  your 
reach  by  which  to  escape  it.  That  is  the  case  with 
me.  I  am  a  woman.  I  have  been  tried  for  murder 
once — publicly  tried,  in  a  crowded  court-room. 
I  would  rather  spend  all  the  rest  of  my  life  in 
prison,  than  be  tried  again.  That  is  why  I  pleaded 
guilty  this  morning.  If  there  were  any  future  to 
look  forward  to— if  Arthur  had  acted  differently— 
if  things  were  not  as  they  are — then,  perhaps— but 
it  is  useless  to  say  perhaps.  I  have  nothing  to  live 
for — nothing  worth  purchasing  at  the  price  of 
another  trial. 

"  Does  any  thing  remain  for  me  to  say  ?     I  do 


3°4  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

not  think  of  any  thing.  I  hope  I  have  made  what  I 
had  to  say  clear  enough.  I  beg  that  you  will  for- 
give  me,  if  I  have  trespassed  beyond  the  limits  of 
friendship,  in  writing  at  such  length. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  RUTH  RIPLEY. 
"  MR.  JULIAN  HETZEL,  43  Beekman  Place." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  THE    FINAL    STATE  O*    THE    STORY." 

ON  Thursday,  August  i4th,  at  about  half  past 
one  in  the  afternoon,  Assistant-district-attor 
ney  Romer  was  seated  in  his  office,  poring  over  a 
huge  law-book,  and  smoking  a  huge  cigar,  when  the 
door  suddenly  flew  open,  and  in  came,  or  more  ac 
curately,  in  burst  Mr.  Julian  Hetzel.  In  one  hand 
Hetzel  carried  a  dripping  umbrella  ;  the  other  hand 
was  thrust  deep  into  the  breast  of  its  owner's  coat. 
Hetzel's  face  wore  an  expression  of  intense  excite 
ment. 

Romer  lifted  his  eyes  from  off  his  law-book, 
removed  his  cigar  from  between  his  lips,  and  ejacu 
lated,  "  Hello  !  What's  up  now  ?  " 

Hetzel  hurried  straight  ahead,  till  he -had  reached 
the  edge  of  Romer's  desk.  Then,  extracting  a 
ponderous  envelope  from  the  inner  pocket  of  his 
coat,  he  threw  it  emphatically  down  upon  Romer's 
blotting  pad,  and  cried,  "Read  that — will  you? — 
and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it." 

Romer  picked  the  envelope  up,  looked  inquiringly 
at  its  superscription,  inserted  thumb  and  forefinger, 
drew  out  its  contents,  unfolded  the  same,  turned  to 
the  beginning,  scanned  perhaps  the  first  dozen 


306  MRS.  PEIXADA. 


lines,  stopped,  ran  the  pages  rapidly  over  to  the 
end,  found  the  signature,  then  glanced  up,  and 
asked,  "  Are  you  in  a  hurry  ?  Have  you  plenty  of 
time  to  spare  ?  Because  it's  a  pretty  serious  under 
taking  —  to  read  this  through." 

"  Here  —  give  it  to  me,"  returned  Hetzel.  "  I've 
been  over  it  once,  and  got  familiar  with  the  hand 
writing.  I'll  read  it  to  you." 

Hetzel  read  Ruth  Ripley's  letter  aloud  to  Romer. 
The  reading  consumed  rather  more  than  an  hour. 
Not  once  did  Romer  interrupt,  or  Hetzel  pause.  At 
the  end,  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 
By  and  by  Romer's  lips  opened. 

"  By  —  by  God  !  "  was  all  he  said. 

Then  he  began  to  pace  uneasily  to  and  fro  across 
the  room. 

"  Well,"  asked  Hetzel,  "  do  you  think  that  that's 
the  sort  of  a  woman  to  be  left  locked  up  in  the 
Tombs  prison  ?  " 

"  Heavens  and  earth  !  "  cried  Romer  ;  and  con 
tinued  his  promenade. 

".But  the  question  is,"  said  Hetzel,  "whether 
she's  to  be  left  there  in  the  Tombs.  In  view  of  what 
she  has  written  down  in  those  papers,  can't  we 
get  her  out  ?  I  want  to  take  her  home  before  night 
fall  to-day.  It  seems  to  me,  it's  an  outrage  upon 
humanity  for  her  to  remain  locked  up  an  hour 
longer.  You're  acquainted  with  the  practical  side 
of  this  kind  of  thing.  Now,  give  me  your  opinion." 

Romer  knitted  his  brows,  and  kept  on  moving 
back  and  forth,  up  and  down  the  room,  Gradually, 


"  THE  FINAL  STATE  O'   THE  STORY."    307 

pendulum-fashion,  the  space  covered  at  each  turn 
shortened  somewhat  ;  until  finally  coming  to  a 
standstill,  Romer  said,  "  Yes,  by  Jove  !  You're 
right.  She  sha'n't  spend  another  night  in  that  place 
if  I  can  help  it ;  and  I  think  I  can." 

"  Good  and  the  less  time  lost,  the  better." 
"  What  I  mean  to  do,"  said  Romer,  "  is  this.  I 
mean  to  take  a  pretty  big  responsibility  upon  my 
shoulders,  but  I  guess  I'm  safe  in  doing  so.  I'm 
sure  Mr.  Orson  would  approve,  if  he  were  here  ; 
and  as  long  as  he  isn't  here,  I'm  going  to  act  on  that 
assumption,  and  run  the  chances  of  getting  his 
approval  after  the  fact.  The  homicide  that  that 
woman  committed— why,  it  was  a  clear  case  of 
self-defense.  And  what  I'm  going  to  take  the  re 
sponsibility  of  doing  is  this.  I  shall  send  down  to 
the  Tombs  and  have  her  brought  up  here — to  my 
office— without  a  moment's  delay.  While  the  offi 
cers  are  gone  after  her,  I'll  run  into  court  and 
speak  privately  to  the  judge.  I'll  lay  these  facts 
before  him,  and  tell  him  that  we,  the  People,  are 
convinced  that  it  was  a  plain  case  of  justifiable  homi 
cide  ;  and  I'll  ask  him  to  let  her  withdraw  her  plea 
of  guilty,  and  enter  one  of  not  guilty,  right  away. 
He  can't  refuse,  if  I  put  it  on  that  ground.  I'll  ask 
him,  moreover,  as  a  personal  favor  to  me,  to  have 
the  court-room  cleared  of  people,  so  that  she" 
won't  be  obliged  to  face  the  music  again  to-day,  as 
she  was  yesterday.  I  can't  promise  that  he'll  agree 
to  this  ;  but  it  isn't  at  all  impossible.  Well  and 
good.  I'll  make  these  arrangements  before  she 


308  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

arrives.  When  she  does  arrive,  I'll  talk  to  her. 
You  leave  me  to  do  the  talking.  Then  we'll  go 
with  her  into  the  judge's  presence,  and  have  her 
do  what's  necessary  there.  And  then,  in  your  sight 
and  in  hers,  so  that  all  doubt  on  that  score  will  be 
cleared  away  for  good  and  all,  I'll  nolle  the  indict- 
ment  !  That  is  to  say,  I'll  render  the  indictment  null 
and  void  by  indorsing  upon  it  a  noL  pros.y  together 
with  a  memorandum  to  the  effect  that  the  district- 
attorney  is  persuaded  of  the  defendant's  innocence. 
Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hetzel,  "I  think  I  understand.  And 
if  you  can  only  succeed  in  doing  this,  we — we'll — " 
Hetzel's  voice  broke.  Before  he  was  able  to 
recover  it,  Romer  had  left  the  room. 

Half  an  hour,  or  thereabouts,  elapsed.  Hetzel 
waited  as  patiently  as  he  could — which  is  not 
saying  much.  Every  five  minutes,  he  had  out  his 
watch.  It  was  nearly  half  past  three  when  at  last 
Romer  reappeared. 

"  Well  ?  "  Hetzel  made  haste  to  inquire. 

"  Well,"  said  Romer,  "  congratulate  me  !  The 
judge  agrees  to  do  every  thing,  just  as  I  wished. 
At  first  he  was  disposed  to  hesitate.  Then  I  read 
him  that  part  where  she  describes  the  application 
of  the  torture.  That  finished  him.  They're  just 
'winding  up  a  larceny  case  at  this  moment.  He's 
on  the  point  of  sentencing  the  prisoner.  After 
that's  over,  he'll  have  the  court-room  emptied,  and 
be  ready  for  us.  She  ought  to  get  here  any 
minute  now,  and — "  Romer  paused  ;  for,  at  this 


"  THE  FtXAL  STATE  0'  THE  STORY."    309 

moment,  the  door  of  his  office  opened,  and  Mrs. 
Ripley  entered  the  room. 

She  halted  just  across  the  threshold,  looked 
from  Romer  to  Hetzel,  bowed  slightly  to  the  latter, 
and  then  stood  still  in  passive  attendance. 

Romer  advanced  toward  her,  and  said,  very 
gently,  "  I  beg  of  you,  Mrs.  Ripley,  to  come  in  and 
sit  down.  I  have  something  to  say,  and  I  shall 
thank  you  very  much  if  you  will  listen.  Sit  down 
here  in  this  easy-chair. — There. — Now,  when  you 
are  ready,  I'll  speak." 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  said.  Her  voice  was  faint 
and  weak.  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  as  though 
feeble  and  exhausted.  Her  face  was  intensely 
white — snow-white  beneath  its  coronet  of  raven  hair. 
There  were  large,  dark  circles  under  her  eyes. 

"  Mrs.  Ripley,"  began  Romer — then  hesitated 
— then  began  anew,  "  Mrs.  Ripley,  I — that  is,  Mr. 
Hetzel — Mr.  Hetzel  has  given  me  the  letter  you 
wrote  him  yesterday,  and  I  have  read  it.  I  dare 
not  trust  myself  to— to  say  what — to  say  any  thing 
about  it,  more  than  this,  that  we — the  district- 
attorney's  office — that  we  are  sorry,  very,  very  sorry 
for  all  that  has  happened — for  all  that  you 
have  been  made  to  suffer  these  last  few  days, 
and  that — that  we  are  anxious  to  do  every  thing  in 
our  power  to  make  amends.  Of  course  I  know 
we  never  can  make  amends  in  full.  I  know 
that.  We  can't  undo  what  has  been  done — can't 
cure  the  pain  that  you've  already  had  to  bear. 
But — but  we  can  spare  you — we  can  save  you 


3  io  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

from  having  to  suffer  any  more  pain,  and — and 
then,  you  know,  being  ignorant  of  the  real  truth,  as 
we  were,  it  wasn't  altogether  our  fault,  was  it  ?  No  ; 
the  original  fault  lay  with  your  lawyers,  Short  and 
Sondheim,  when  you  were  first  tried,  years  ago. 
They — they  ought  to  have  been  strung  and  quar 
tered,  because,  if  they  had  had  you  tell  your  story 
to  the  district-attorney  then,  and  if  you  had  told  it 
in  its  completeness,  as  you  have  in  this  letter,  why 
— why,  nobody  would  have  doubted  your  innocence 
for  a  moment,  and  you  would  have  been  spared  no 
end  of  trouble  and  sorrow  and  mortification. 
But  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  It's  too  late  to 
complain  of  Short  and  Sondheim.  They  have  an  in 
born  antipathy  to  the  truth,  and  always  fight  as  shy 
of  it  as  they  can.  There's  no  use  raking  up 
bygones.  The  point  is  now  that  we  want  to  set 
you  at  liberty  as  quickly  as  possible.  That's  the 
most  we  can  do.  We  mean  to  nolle the  indictment 
against  you — which  will  be  as  complete  an  exoner 
ation  as  an  acquittal  by  a  jury  and  an  honorable 
discharge  by  a  judge  would  be.  That's  what  we 
intend  to  do.  But  first — before  we  can  do  that — 
first,  you  know,  you  will  have  to  untie  our  hands  by 
withdrawing  the  plea  that  you  put  in  yesterday,  and 
by  entering  in  place  of  it  a  plea  of  not  guilty. 
Then  you'll  be  a  free  woman.  Then  you  can  go 
home  with  Mr.  Hetzel,  here,  and  rest  assured 
that  you'll  never  be  troubled  any  more  about  the 
matter." 

Ruth  sat  perfectly  still  in  her  chair.     Her  great, 


"  THE  FINAL  STATE  O   THE  STORY."    311 

melancholy  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  wall  in  front 
of  her.  She  made  no  answer. 

"  Now,"  Romer  said,  after  having  waited  in  vain 
for  her  to  speak,  "  now,  if  you  will  be  so  good,  I 
should  like  to  have  you  come  with  me  into  the 
court  room,  in  order,  you  know,  to  do  what  I  have 
said." 

At  this,  Ruth  winced  perceptibly.  "  Oh,"  she 
said,  very  low,  "  must — must  I  go  into  court  again  ?" 

"  Oh,  this  time,"  explained  Romer,  "  it  will  not 
be  as  hard  for  you  as  it  was  before.  There'll  be 
no  spectators  and  no  red  tape.  You'll  tell  the 
judge  that  you  withdraw  your  plea  of  guilty,  and 
plead  not  guilty,  and  he'll  say  all  right  ;  and  then 
you'll  see  me  nolle  the  indictment  ;  and  then  it 
will  all  be  over  for  good  ;  and,  as  I've  said,  you'll 
go  home  with  Mr.  Hetzel." 

Ruth  rose,  bowed  to  Romer,  and  said,  "  I  am 
ready  to  follow  you." 

*'  Is  there  any  objection  to  my  accompanying 
you  ?  "  Hetzel  asked. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  come  along,"  said  Romer. 

Every  thing  befell  substantially  as  Romer  had 
predicted.  They  found  the  judge  presiding  over 
an  empty  court-room.  His  honor  came  down  infor 
mally  from  the  bench,  bade  Mrs.  Ripley  be  seated, 
said  laughingly,  "  I'll  act  as  clerk  and  judge  both," 
went  to  the  clerk's  desk,  possessed  himself  of  pen, 
ink,  and  paper,  rattled  off  sottovoce,  "  You,  Judith 
Peixada,  do  hereby" — mumble,  mumble,  mumble — 
"  and  enter  in  lieu  of  the  same" — mumble,  mumble 


312  MRS.  PEIXADA. 

— "  upon  the  indictment  ;  "  threw  down  his  pen, 
got  up,  added  in  a  loud,  hearty  voice,  "  That's  all, 
madam  :  good  day,  "  bowed,  and  left  the  room. 

A  few  minutes  later  Ruth  was  seated  at  Hetzel's 
side  in  a  carriage  ;  and  the  carriage  was  making 
at  top-speed  for  Beekman  Place.  After  they  had 
driven  for  half  a  dozen  blocks  in  silence,  Hetzel 
began,  "  Mrs.  Ripley,  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you. 
I  suppose  you  are  so  tired  that  you  would  rather 
not  be  talked  to.  But  there  is  something  which 
you  must  hear  before  we  reach  home  ;  and  I  must 
beg  of  you  to  give  me  permission  to  say  it  now — 
at  once." 

"  Say  any  thing  you  wish.  I  will  listen  to  any 
thing  you  wish  to  say."  Her  voice  was  that  of  a 
woman  whose  spirit  has  been  quite  broken  and 
subdued. 

"  Well,  then,  the  upshot  of  what  I  have  to  say  is 
just  this.  Don't  for  a  moment  imagine  that  I  mean 
to  reproach  you.  Under  the  circumstances — 
considering  the  shock  and  the  pain  of  your  situation 
last  Monday — you  weren't  to  be  blamed  for  jump 
ing  to  a  false  conclusion.  But  now,  at  last,  you  are 
in  a  position  to  see  things  as  they  truly  are.  What 
I  want  to  say  is  what  Mrs.  Hart  wanted  to  say  when 
she  visited  you  on  Tuesday.  It  is  that  Arthur — 
that  your  husband — had  no  more  idea,  when  he 
put  that  advertisement  into  the  papers,  that  you 
were  Judith  Peixada,  than  I  had,  or  than  the  most 
indifferent  person  in  the  world  had.  When  you 
fancy  that  he  had  been  trying  to  find  out  your 


*'  THE  FINAL  STATE  0'   THE  STO^Y."    313 

secrets  behind  your  back,  you  do  him  a — a  tremen 
dous  injustice.  He  never  would  be  capable  of  such 
a  thing.  Arthur  is  the  frankest,  honestest  fellow 
that  ever  lived.  He  doesn't  know  what  deception 
means.  The  amount  of  the  matter  was  simply  this. 
He  had  been  retained  by  Mr.  Peixada  to  hunt  up 
his  brother's  widow.  In  order  to  accomplish  this, 
he  resorted  to  a  device  which,  I  suppose,  precedents 
seemed  to  justify,  though  it  strikes  me  as  a  pretty 
shabby  one,  notwithstanding — he  advertised.  And 
when  he  went  to  meet  Mrs.  Peixada  in  his  client's 
office,  and  found  that  she  and  you  were  one  and 
the  same  person,  why,  he  was  as  much  astonished 
as — as  I  was  when  he  came  home  and  told  me 
about  it.  There's  the  long  and  short  of  the  story 
in  a  nutshell.  The  detail  of  it  you'll  learn  when 
you  talk  it  over  with  him." 

Hetzel  waited,  expecting  Ruth  to  speak.  But 
she  did  not  speak  for  a  long  while.  She  sat  rigid 
in  her  corner,  with  pale  face  and  downcast  eyes. 
At  last,  however,  her  lips  opened.  In  a  whisper, 
"  Will — will  he  ever  forgive  me  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Forgive  you  ?  "  repeated  Hetzel.  "  He  doesn't-] 
feel  that  he  has  any  thing  to  forgive  you  for.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  hopes  for  your  forgiveness — 
hopes  you  will  forgive  him  for  having  refused  to 
let  you  speak.  It  was  a  coincidence  and  a  mistake. 
He  loves  you.  When  that  is  said,  every  thing  is 
said." 

For  another  long  while  Ruth  kept  silence.  As 
the  carriage  turned  into  Fiftieth  Street,  she  straight- 


3U  MX  5.  PRIX  AD  A. 

ened  up,  and  drew  a  deep,  tremulous  breath.  After 
a  brief  moment  of  hesitation,  she  said,  "  I — I  sup 
pose  he  is  waiting  for  us — yes  ?  " 

"  Well,"  Hetzel  answered,  "  that  reminds  me. 
You — you  see,  the  fact  is — " 

And  thereupon  the  poor  fellow  had  to  break  the 
news  of  Arthur's  illness  to  her,  as  best  he  could. 
Beginning  with  that  hour,  the  trained  nurse  had  an 
indefatigable  companion  in  her  vigils. 


One  morning  Ruth  said  to  Hetzel,  "  To-day  is 
the  day  fixed  for  the  probate  of  Bernard  Peixada's 
will.  Do  you  think  it  is  necessary  that  I  should 
go  to  the  court  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Hetzel,  "  and  I  don't 
care.  You  sha'n't  do  so.  I'll  be  you  rproxy." 

He  went  to  the  surrogate's  office.  When  he 
returned  home,  he  said,  "  Well,  Mrs.  Ripley,  the 
enemy  has  had  his  Waterloo  !  The  orphan  asylum 
and  the  home  for  working-girls  will  continue  to 
enjoy  Bernard  Peixada's  wealth." 

"  Why,  how  is  that  ?  "  Ruth  questioned. 

"  The  will  fell  through." 

"  Fell  through  ?     Was  it  a  forgery  ?     Or  what  ? " 

"  No,  it  wasn't  a  forgery,  but  it  was  a  holograph. 
That  is  to  say,  the  testator  was  rash  enough  to  draw 
it  himself — without  the  assistance  of  a  lawyer  ;  and 
so  he  contrived  to  make  a  fatal  blunder.  It  seems 


"  THE  FIXAL  STATE  0'  THE  STORY."   315 

that  the  law  requires  a  person,  upon  signing  his 
will,  to  explain  explicitly  to  the  witnesses  the  nature 
of  the  document — that  it  is  a  will,  and  not  a  deed, 
or  a  contract,  or  what  not.  And  that  is  precisely 
what  Mr.  Peixada  fortunately  omitted  to  do.  The 
witnesses  swore  that  he  had  said  nothing  whatever 
concerning  the  character  of  the  instrument — that 
he  had  simply  requested  them  to  attest  his  signa 
ture,  and  then  had  folded  the  paper  up,  and  put  it 
into  his  pocket.  The  lawyer — Arthur's  successor — 
pressed  them  pretty  hard,  but  they  weren't  to  be 
shaken  ;  and  the  clerk  thereupon  declared  that  the 
will  was  void  and  valueless  ;  and  then  there  was  a 
lot  of  excitement ;  and  I  came  away  ;  and  that's 
how  the  case  stands  at  present." 

"  And  so  the  money  will  remain  where  it  is  ? " 
"  Precisely  ;  though  I  should  think  the  man  to 
whom  it  once  belonged  would  turn  in  his  grave,  at 
the  thought  of  the  good  it's  doing.  This  is  the  sort 
of  thing  that  helps  one  to  believe  in  an  avenging 
angel,  isn't  it?" 


One  Sunday  afternoon,  toward  the  middle  of  Sep 
tember,  Ruth  was  very  happy.  The  crisis  of 
Arthur's  illness,  Dr.  Letzup  vouched,  had  passed. 
His  delirium  had  subsided.  He  had  fallen  into  a 
placid  slumber.  With  proper  care  and  vigilant 
guarding  against  a  relapse,  the  doctor  thought,  he 
ought  to  be  upon  his  feet  within  a  month. 


316  M£S.  PEIXADA. 

So,  it  was  natural  that  Ruth's  heart  should 
sing. 

But,  especially  when  one  is  a  songstress  by  birth 
and  training,  a  singing  heart  is  apt  to  induce  sym 
pathetic  action  on  the  part  of  the  voice.  Ruth  was 
seated  at  the  window  in  the  room  adjoining  Ar 
thur's,  listening  to  her  heart's  song,  when,  most  like 
ly  without  her  being  conscious  of  it,  a  soft,  sweet 
strain  of  melody  began  to  flow  from  her  lips.  It 
was  very  low  and  gentle,  and  yet,  as  the  event 
proved,  it  was  loud  enough  to  arouse  the  invalid 
from  his  much  needed  sleep.  The  nurse  came 
bustling  in  from  the  sick  room,  with  finger  raised  in 
warning,  and  exclaimed  in  a  whisper,  "  Hush — hush 
— sh — sh  !  You've  gone  and  waked  him  up  !  " 

Was  it  possible  that  she  had  so  far  forgotten  her 
self  ?  Oh,  dear,  dear  !  Her  regret  bordered  upon 
despair.  Yet,  with  the  impetuosity  that  is  charac 
teristic  of  her  sex,  she  could  not  stop  there,  and  let 
bad  enough  alone,  but  must  needs  be  guilty  of  still 
further  imprudence,  and  march  bodily  into  the  sick 
man's  presence,  and  up  close  to  his  bedside. 

He  lay  with  open  eyes  looking  straight  ceiling- 
ward.  But  at  the  moment  of  her  entrance  he 
turned  his  gaze  full  upon  her,  and  a  happy  smile 
lighted  up  his  wan,  wasted  face.  He  did  not  at 
tempt  to  speak.  Neither  did  she.  But  she  bent 
over  him,  and  kissed  him  once  upon  the  forehead, 
and  rewarded  his  smile  with  a  glance  of  infinite 
tenderness. 

Then  his  lips  moved.     "  Was — was  it  all  a  dream 


"  THE  FINAL  STATE  O'   THE  STORY."    317 

— my  meeting  you  in  Peixada's  office,  and  all  the 
rest?"  he  whispered. 

"  Yes — all  a  dream  ?  "  she  answered. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  went  to  sleep  again. 
When  Dr.  Letzup  called  that  evening,  "  Better  and 
better  !  "  he  cried.  "  What  panacea  have  you  been 
administering  during  my  absence  ? " 


On  Saturday,  October  i8th,  the  steamship  Alcibi- 
ades,  Captain  Gialsamino,  of  the  Florio  line,  sailed 
from  its  berth  in  Brooklyn,  and  pointed  its  prow 
towards  Naples.  Inscribed  on  the  passenger-list 
were  the  names  :  "  M.  and  Mme.  A.  Ripli."  Mon 
sieur  and  Madame  Ripley  were  bent  upon  winter 
ing  in  Italy.  They  have  remained  abroad  ever 
since.  Arthur  talks  in  his  letters  of  coming  home 
next  spring,  though  what  he  will  do  when  he  gets 
here,  I  don't  know,  for  he  has  registered  a  solemn 
vow  never  again  to  practice  law. 


THE  END. 


AS  IT  WAS  WRITTEN. 

A  Jewish  Musician's  Story. 

BY  SIDNEY  LUSKA. 


;  VOLUME  i6MO.  EXTRA  CLOTH.    PRICE,      ....    $1.00. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

"As  IT  WAS  WRITTEN  is  certainly  a  work  of  no  common  sort.  It  is  full  of  passion 
and  virile  struggle,  and  will  make  its  mark."— GEORGE  GARY  EGGLESTON. 

"  Its  intensity,  picturesqueness  and  exciting  narration  are  in  sharp  contrast  with 
the  works  of  our  analytic  novelists." — E.  C.  STEDMAN. 

"  It  is  safe  to  say  that  few  readers  who  have  perused  the  first  chapter,  will  be  con 
tent  to  lay  the  book  down  without  finishing  it." — Christian  Union^  New  York. 

"  The  working  out  of  so  strange  and  abnormal  a  plot  without  any  descent  into  mere 
grotesqueness  is  a  triumph  of  art." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  It  is  vivid  without  floridness,  dreamy  without  sentiment,  exciting  without  being 
sensational."—  The  Critic,  New  York. 

11  We  can  earnestly  advise  all  readers  who  care  for  a  novel  showing  individuality, 
power  and  thought,  to  read  As  IT  WAS  WRITTEN."— Brooklyn  Union. 

"  To  Sidney  Luska  we  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  for  charming  us  with  a  powerful 
story." — Jewish  Messenger,  New  York. 

44  The  book  is  certain  to  be  read  with  interest,  and  to  raise  at  least  its  little  ripple  of 
talk  and  criticism  as  being  out  of  the  common  run  of  the  works  of  the  day. — Boston 
Courier. 

"  A  capital  novel.  ...  It  cannot  fail  to  impress  itself  as  an  able  and  moving 
dramatic  effort." — New  York  Times. 

44  The  wearied  reader  of  fiction  who  opens  this  book  has  in  store  for  himself  a 
genuine  sensation." — Palladium,  New  Haven. 

44  Of  all  the  novels  that  have  come  to  us  this  season,  As  IT  WAS  WRITTEN  seems  the 
most  likely  to  take  a  permanent  place  in  literature.  We  hope  to  hear  from  Sidney 
Luska  again." — Yale  Courant. 

44  A  remarkable  prose  composition,  created  out  of  intense  feeling  and  imagination, 
and  powerfully  affecting  those  of  others,  and  bears  the  mark  of  genius." — Boston 
Globe. 

**  We  have  seen  no  book  of  late  years  to  which  the  term  absorbing  in  interest  could 
more  appropriately  be  applied." — Boston  Herald. 

*4  One  of  the  most  powerful  novels  of  the  year." — St .  Louis  Republican. 

44  It  stands  apart  from  the  average  novel,  soon  invites  attention  and  then  rivets  it. 
.  .  .  Will  doubtless  be  extensively  read." — New  York  Telegram. 

44  A  work  of  thrilling  interest  that  exercises  an  enthralling  influence  over  the  imagi 
nation.  For  sustained  power  it  occupies  an  unique  position  among  the  novels  of  the 
year . ' ' — Da  ily  Ch  ronicle. 

FOR  SALE  BY  ALL  BOOKSELLERS. 

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